Drive
by HermioneIncarnate
Summary: When life becomes too much, will a road trip be the solution to Stephanie's problems? Rated M for references to sexual assault, adult situations, violence, smut, and language. Strong Steph metamorphosis/Babe HEA. Thanks for reading!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: This is my first FanFic. Please review!

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 14SEP18 0700-0830

 **Stephanie POV**

Drive. Just drive. It was the dominant, all-consuming thought in my brain. I stood in my low-rent apartment, and I knew I had to leave. The rooms felt smaller as my breathing became heavier. _Focus._ I can't just leave. Everyone will think I'm running away, and I don't want people following me. I'm not running, but I can't stay here. I need a break, a chance to break down without an audience. To do so, I need to leave with at least an attempt at peace in my wake.

I numbly walk into my bedroom, grabbing a duffel bag, tossing in random clothes and shoes. Stopping in the bathroom, I am surprised by my own reflection. My curly brown hair is more askew than usual, the bags under my eyes darker and my skin paler. I sigh but make no attempt to fix any of it.

Stepping back into the bedroom, I give the room one last cursory glance. My eyes land on a familiar t-shirt. I shut them quickly, trying to close out the flash of memory I am trying so hard to forget. I need to drive.

I stop in the kitchen and decide to leave a cursory note. Grabbing a ripped envelope from a junk solicitation, I quickly scrawl,

 _If you've broken in, you realize I'm not here.  
I'm taking an impromptu vacation.  
_ _I'll be back when I get back._

Good enough. Upbeat enough. Or maybe I'm just hoping it's enough.

I take out my cell phone and send a text to work, letting Connie know I have no outstanding files and I'll be unavailable for a few days. I don't wait for a reply before turning my phone off and stowing it in my purse. Frankly, I don't even care if I have a job when I get back. It doesn't matter.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, tuck my hamster Rex's aquarium under my arm, and lock the door behind me. I already feel my breath evening out. I'm doing this. I take a quick glance around my parking lot, breathing a further sigh of relief I see no one familiar. Starting up my early 2000s silver Honda Civic DX, I head towards my parent's house. This is the latest car in a long line of cars. I owned the previous one for a whole 38 hours before it went all fireball. I've owned this one for a whole 38 days, practically a personal record.

I can do this. I can do this. I repeat the words to myself as a feeble pep talk. It's my last obstacle.

The Burg radar is fully-operational, and my mother and Grandma Mazur are waiting on the front stoop as I pull in. I love my home, and I hate my home. Mostly, I am resigned. It's a brick and paneled side by side duplex typical of the post-WWII building revival that spurred suburban neighborhood development in Trenton, New Jersey and elsewhere.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum," my mother, Ellen Plum, begins before I've even entered the door. "Why are you here so early? Is it with any good news? Things I hope for every day are 'Mom, I've quit my job,' 'Mom, I've accepted Joseph's proposal, and we set a date,' or 'Mom, I've managed to go an entire day without bringing embarrassment to my family.' Edna Marino's daughter gave her mom great news today! She's pregnant!"

I look down at my feet and count to five. I have to face them to take this break. I can do this. Before I can reply, Grandma pipes in. "Why would Stephanie want to settle down with Joe Morelli when she can court that Ranger as well? They both have great packages!" My mother and I sigh in unison. Grandma Mazur came to live with my parents when Grandpa Mazur went to the never-ending all-you-can-eat buffet in the sky. My mother and I don't agree on much, but we do agree that Grandma's complete lack of inhibitions and filter make having a normal conversation, well, difficult. This entire visit has my heart rate up and my thoughts are narrowing. I want to leave. Mom glances at the cupboard over the sink, but I can see her resolve that 8 am isn't 5 o'clock somewhere.

Ignoring them both, I attempt to extricate myself from the conversation by getting straight to the point. "Mom, I've decided to take a long weekend. I didn't want you to worry. Would you mind watching Rex for a couple of days?"

She gives me a hard look. "What's this? Are you going with Joseph? Not by yourself? What will everyone think?"

I look her in the eye for the first time since my arrival and quietly say, "Please."

It's out of character for us. We usually fight, talk, and cajole in the loudest of terms with flailing arms and people stomping out. It gives her pause, and she thankfully, mercifully stops her relentless nagging.

"Of course I'll take Rex. Call us with updates. I expect you for dinner when you get back."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Thank you." I place Rex on the counter, hugging my mother and grandmother, and leave.

With each step, I feel an equal measure of relief and nothingness wash over more. I can be free. Now I can drive.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Thank you for the helpful and encouraging reviews!

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 14SEP18 1100-1130

 **Stephanie POV**

I don't know where I am going. I don't care. I don't have the patience for stop signs. I need to be free. I turn on the Jersey Turnpike headed south, driving faster and faster. I'm going 10, 15, 20 mph over the speed limit. I want to go faster, but the threat of a trip to jail for driving recklessly reins me in. The greater the distance between myself and Trenton, the more I feel the emotional walls I've built around myself begin the crumble. The car is silent. I stare ahead, and all the thoughts I've wanted to repress begin to swirl around my brain in a disjointed mess.

Once I reach I-95S, I stop for gas, I stop to pee, but I never stray from the interstate. I'm not hungry. Hell, not even a TastyCake appeals as a road snack. I suck down a Red Bull and get back on the road with as little wasted time as possible. The repetitive numbness of the road, mile marker sign after mile marker sign, whizzing by in my periphery serves as the anchor to my troubled mind.

 **Ranger POV**

I'm working through the files on my desk. Tank does his best to stay ahead when I'm in the wind, as Stephanie says, but the fact remains he has his own work to do in addition to shouldering mine. I've been back for a little more than a month, and it seems I've only made a dent. We need to hire someone. I want it to be Steph, but she seems to think it would be a pity job. The Core Team and I think she'd be perfect given her experience, education, and rapport with the Rangemen, but we can't seem to convince her otherwise.

Stephanie. Babe. I look out the window and reflect.

She sounds the same. She laughs and jokes with the guys mostly the same. She engages with Connie and Lula in the Bonds office the same. But when she thinks no one is looking, she isn't the same. There is a sadness in her eyes that wasn't there before I left six months ago. She's also thinner, but not in a fitness way. I know something is wrong, but I can't begin to figure out what it is.

She's been on again with Morelli, so I've kept my distance, but even there… It's different. I've yet to see her kiss him or even hold hands. She hasn't slept many nights in her apartment, but the two times I crept in after she was asleep only amplified my concern. Her face seemed troubled, and I could see dried tear tracks in the moonlight.

I turn my head to a knock on the doorframe. Lester stands there. I nod my head slightly, giving him permission to enter. "Hey Boss, we have unusual activity on Bombshell's trackers. It seems she is headed south and travelling at a high rate of speed, anywhere from 80-90 miles per hour. Last position was I-95S between Baltimore and DC."

I look at my watch. It's noon. I nod at my cousin again, intending for him to be dismissed. I raise my left eyebrow slightly as he hesitates.

"Do you think she's ok?" Lester asks. I'm surprised Lester would challenge me like this, but it speaks volumes to how much Stephanie means to the guys. I purse my lips in a thin line and make a decision. It's time for me to close the distance between Steph and myself.

Standing, I order Lester to assemble a complete report on Stephanie's latest movements, FTAs, stalkers, Burg gossip, the whole nine yards and report back at 1200, an hour from now. Walking to Tank's office, my number two, best friend, and right-hand man, I fill him in and tell him I'll be investigating her apartment. He, too, looks concerned and says, "I'm worried. Something's been off with Little Girl for a while. At first, I thought it was your departure and arrival, but I'm not convinced anymore."

I nearly sigh but catch myself. "Agreed," I reply as I stride out of the room.

Bach plays quietly in my Porsche 911 as I drive towards her apartment. I don't expect to find her here, but I can't believe she would just leave town either. I take the stairs two at a time, make short order of her lock and have my Glock at the ready. I clear the apartment, and the first thing I notice is Rex is gone. The next I notice is a note where the hamster normally resides.

I almost snort as I read the note. A vacation. Right. She's running away. I can feel it. But to where, and why? I need to catch up to her. The further she is away from us, the greater the chance she has to slip away should she decide. I need more intel and fast. I try calling her phone, but it goes to voicemail. I square my shoulders as I turn to head out and stop at the sight of an angry looking Joe Morelli.

 **Joe POV**

I'm annoyed. And I have blue balls. Things were going great between us! Then the last three months, she started pulling away. I'd love to blame it on Manoso, but he wasn't here, and I know she hasn't spent much time in his company since he's been back. She started being less enthusiastic in the bedroom, and then we started having sex less. She still stays at my place most nights, but we just…sleep. I'm fine with not cuddling, I like my space in bed, but really, our relationship is becoming more and more platonic as the days go by.

I think it's because her life is just a constant disaster. I cannot, for the life of me, possibly understand why she won't quit that dangerous job of hers. I tried talking to her about it after her last car explosion, but she never even responded. She just stared into the flames. I talked louder and waved my arms at her, but it was no use. Well, if she didn't want to talk, then I didn't either. And so it seems we settled into a fairly silent, semi-uncomfortable and sexless routine.

I've noticed my eye has started wandering again. I haven't cheated, but things can't continue the way they are; it's why I'm on my way to Steph's apartment now. We need to talk. I go the door and can't help but feel my temper flare as I see Manoso standing inside.

"What are you doing here?" I spit out. Glancing around I call out, "Cupcake!"

Manoso pushes a piece of paper towards me. "Fuck!" I exclaim, running a hand through my hair.

She just left. She said nothing. She didn't even trust Rex with me. If she needed a vacation so bad, why didn't she take me or at least let me know? I go to call her cell all under _his_ constant gaze. Voicemail, and I end the call. I purse my lips in a thin line and make a decision. It's time to increase the distance between Stephanie and myself.

I walk out without another glance at Manoso and begin calling her phone again as I get into my POS detective's car. When the voicemail predictably picks up again, I'm ready.

"Cupcake, I'm sorry. I know things have been different between us, and I know something is up with you. The best part of us is the sex, and without that, we are barely friends. When you get back from your _vacation_ , I'll have removed all your things from my home and returned them to you. I'm moving on. If you want to compete for the title of Mrs. Morelli when you get back, you can do so on an open playing field. I love you, I always will. I hope you figure out what you want." I hang up and drive away.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: A special thank you to misty23y for volunteering to be my Beta. Your review of this story and investment in making it better means a lot to me. I encourage everyone to check out her amazing stories. Chapters 1 and 2 have been updated as a result of this collaboration, but there have been no changes to the overall story.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 14SEP18 1200

 **Stephanie POV**

As I speed down the interstate, equal measures relief and emotional upheaval wash over me. I try to focus on the road, but the farther from Trenton I get, the more I feel the cracks in the dam grow. It's getting harder to hold the memories back. I think back to mid-June, three months ago. Ranger had been in the wind. Joe and I were in a comfortable place. I could never have anticipated the impact one early summer day, which had dawned bright and clear, would have on my sanity.

 **Flashback**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, 18JUN18 0900-1530

I wake up slowly from sleep in Ranger's black t-shirt and Joe's boxers. Stretching, I pad out of bed and shuffle across the room. Looking at my disheveled appearance in the mirror I can't help but smirk at the visual contradiction my life is. My stomach growls and a quick trip through my bare cupboards tells me it's a catch-a-skip-to-eat kind of a day.

Getting ready quickly, I don my Stephanie Plum go-to outfit of jeans, Converse sneakers and a t-shirt that fits great and reveals just a hint of cleavage in the V-neck. Adding an extra coat of mascara, I say bye to Rex and head out to conquer the world.

I drive straight to Bonds Office via the Tasty Pastry where a baker's dozen of New Jersey's finest donuts just happened into my car. Connie, the office manager looks up at me over her nail file and breathes in deeply through her nose. She is gorgeous, in an Italian American, faint shadow of a mustache, Betty Boop kind of way. All cleavage, curves and dark hair, it would be impossible to accurately guess her age.

"Vinnie is in a state this morning," Connie warns.

"File for donuts," I bargain. It's an easy deal.

Vinnie is a cousin on my father's side with a colorful reputation. As my mother's daughter, I've been well-trained to the Burg gossip grindstone. Armed with some secrets involving a duck and his sexual preferences that he'd rather not have made public, I got a job, and he got a brand new bounty hunter. It mostly works out for both of us.

Lula, a close friend, office clerk, and sometimes partner stood up from the brown, cracked pleather sofa and strode towards the donut box. She has mermaid hair in shades of blue, aqua and pink with a matching sequined tube top and an aqua green pencil skirt that flared into a ruffle at the knee. I couldn't tell you how, but the aquatic chic look works for her.

Sitting on the couch with a Boston Crème, I review the file. The skip's name is Michael Bruno who was charged with a DUI. He grew up in the Burg. Hmmm. I took another look at the mug shot, and the nagging feeling in the back of my brain has a eureka moment. I know that name. He was one of Morelli's posse back in high school.

"I'm off. I'll start on this right away," I say to Connie.

"Good. We all want Vinnie to take the chill pill he will once the skip, and more importantly, the money from the bond comes in," Connie replies.

I snicker, grateful I'll be on the streets and not manning the office.

"Want any help?" Lula calls out.

"Nah," I reply. "I've got a good feeling about this one."

With luck on my side, I think, why not just go to his house? I knew from a conversation with Morelli that I half paid attention to last night that the Phillies had a day game today. Perhaps he'd be camped out on his couch, beer in hand. A three-mile drive later, a knock on the door resulted in two surprised faces.

I was temporarily blinded by the whiteness of a slightly balding Michael Bruno standing in his Phillies shirt, tightie whities and tube socks. The two-day old beard and stale beer smell indicated this was a worn in look for him. Michael looks initially startled, and then thrilled as he recognizes me.

"Stephanie! Come in! Long time, no see! What's brings you to my casa?"

"Hi, Michael," I say with a smile. "I'm here as bond enforcement. You missed your court date. I'd like to take you to the station to reschedule."

Michael has the conscience to look chagrined. "Yeah, I guess I just forgot. I'll tell you what. Let's finish the game, we sit and catch up, and I'll go with you easy as a favor to Joe."

I give him a long look. "If we don't finish the game…" I decide to challenge.

He gives me an equally serious look, "Then I make you the center of the Burg gossip machine by running through town in my underwear shouting 'Thief!' as you chase me."

It's an easy decision. "One condition," I counter. "You have to put pants on."

He grins widely at me, "Only if the Phillies win." We make ourselves comfy on the couch.

Around the seventh inning, Michael stretches and opens another beer. "So, Morelli, eh. I gotta say, I'm still holding out hope I'll win the bet that you don't end up with him."

I do my best to wipe the cod-fish impression off my face.

"I mean," he continues, "Boinking a girl on the floor of the Tasty Pastry and then advertising the deed all over town is a helluva pick up routine. He even went so far as to threaten all of us with his fists if we attempted to have his sloppy seconds while he was away in the Navy." He takes another swig of his beer and groans as the Phillies fall behind by a run. "I really thought I would win the bet when you ran him over with the Buick. Would have been a thousand-dollar payday, too! But the terms said you had to be married and for more than one year before I could cash out. We all know how Dickie turned out, so there the pot sits. I mean, did you agree to sleep with him to bring him in when he was running and hiding out and rediscover his Italian Stallion bullshit? Is he really that good in bed?" Now he is full on laughing at his own recanting.

"A BET!" I exclaim, finding my voice.

Michael continues to laugh at me and said, "With interest, there is more than $1,200 sitting in a bank account waiting for you two to be finally be together or apart. I don't even know how many people have paid in at this point. Honestly, I always thought you were too good for any of us, so I bet against Joe. I have yet to be proven wrong, but I also haven't been proven right."

I'm reeling. This is just too much. I'm a bet? My luck finishes running out as the Phillies lose, and I lay a towel down on my seat to take Michael down to the station.

 **End of Flashback**

I knew that was when I began to see my world as it was and not in the carefully constructed denial land version I'd enjoyed living in.

* * *

A/N: I'm so excited by everyone who has taken the time to leave a review, a note of encouragement, or showed me where I can correct an error. If you have an active PM account, I'll continue to respond to your comments individually. To my guests and those who do not have PM enabled, please know I am reading and appreciating every review.

As this story continues to build, I plan on posting new chapters every Tuesday and Friday. Thanks again!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: A special thank you to misty23y for volunteering to be my Beta! Check out her work! I'd also like to thank everyone for your comments, encouragement, corrections and questions. It's challenging me to write a better story.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 14SEP18 1400

 **Stephanie POV**

A sign indicating Richmond whizzes past. As I drive, I focus straight ahead, doing my best impression of Ranger's blank face as a means of tamping down the wave of sadness building up inside me. I know I'm a fuck up who hurts everyone around me. I am finding more of my own fault in all of the things that seem to constantly go wrong around me.

I wanted my relationship with Joe to work, and I wanted my mother's approval. I tried to be happy with him, but I couldn't ever figure out what the _but_ was. It was after my conversation with Michael the _but_ started to make itself known.

My mind drifts back again to that day.

 **Flashback**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, 18JUN18 1630-2200

After dropping Michael off at the station, I drive on autopilot back to Joe's home, where I had been staying. I spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the blank TV. I am trying to understand myself. I feel numb, resigned, and I desperately want to be in denial land. Deep down, I know I should be outraged, to defend myself with the full rhino-mode of a Jersey girl. Why do I feel so stuck?

I determine it is partly because I don't want to believe the Joe I knew and hated at 16 is the Joe I know and love now. I don't doubt Michael is telling to truth about the bet, but perhaps it is part of Joe's past and not the reason we are together today. I want to believe people change. Before I give up the hopes I had for a future with Joe, I need to know the truth. For once in my life, I don't want to be rash.

I jump as the door slams, and I hear Joe before I see him.

"Cupcake! What's this I hear about you bringing Michael Bruno in in his underwear? It isn't enough your job is embarrassing to me and anyone who takes law enforcement seriously? Now you have to embarrass my friends?" He throws Bob the dog a milk bone and lets him out into the yard before grabbing a beer and settling down on the couch beside me.

I sigh. "It's not my fault. He said he would only put pants on if the Phillies won, and we both know how that turned out."

Joe shakes his head. "You shouldn't have been there at all. There are so many other ways to earn a living, Cupcake. Hell, you don't even have to work. You know my offer of marriage, babies and a happily ever after still stands."

I did. And as I sit there, I feel that happily ever after begin to slip away. I don't have the energy to fight, to ask the hard questions. A part of me still loves him, still hopes. So, I divert and ask Joe if he has dinner plans.

"How does pizza sound?" he queries, and I dial Pino's. The evening proceeds as the hundred before them; TV, couch, nothing much said conversation.

As we head up to bed, Joe suddenly pushes me against bedroom wall before breathing into my neck, "You know I love you, right?" My own breath catches as he kisses me hard before taking my shirt off, touching me in all the places that usually set my insides on fire. Except this time, they didn't.

With a shock, an image flashes in my brain. I was six. It was summer, hot, the smell of oil hung in the air. Fingers. Inside me. Confusion. My mom's anger.

The sudden wave of shame that washes over me is paralyzing. Joe doesn't notice or maybe he doesn't care. He takes his pants off, then half lays, half pushes me onto the bed while assisting me with my own pants before positioning himself on top of me. Despite the intimacy of the moment, I feel detached from him as he thrusts to the tempo of his own pleasure. I need this to end, so I fake an orgasm. I didn't stay on the bed beside Joe when he finishes, excusing myself to the restroom.

I slide down the wall as the memory of that day assaults my brain. My mom had warned me against playing with the Morelli boys, but I was inexplicably drawn. I don't know what I thought he meant when he asked if I wanted to play Choo-Choo, but I certainly had no concept of his version of the game. I didn't even know what a vagina was at six-years-old.

Sitting there, I remember the confusion when he asked me to take off my panties. Then I remembered the pain as he pushed his dirty fingers inside me. To think I had wanted to be the train. I realize then I had never mourned the innocence lost that day.

I had tried to talk to my mom; I had tried to understand. She told me how disgusting and embarrassing I was. I was told to never repeat the story, and I hadn't.

 **End of Flashback**

I did my best to forget that day. All I did was delay the feelings until now. That shame, that vulnerability has been a heavy coat since. I can't escape the sense of responsibility that if I had been better, made better decisions, listened to my mom, I could have prevented it all. I could have grown up to be a child she loved. It was my fault.

I couldn't have known it that day, but I was to never have another orgasm with Joe Morelli.

 **Ranger POV**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 14SEP18 1200-1230

"Report," I bark. Tank, Lester and Bobby are assembled in the conference room. The silence that followed was unexpected. I look at each of them. Lester spoke up first.

"All is quiet on the Bomber front," he states. "There isn't much to report. It seems after her last car explosion, there hasn't been any trouble from her FTA's. There is nothing from Stark Street." I nod and look at Tank.

"I couldn't find much either. I asked Lula about gossip. She said the only thing people are talking about is that she and Morelli seems to be on the outs. Lula didn't hear about Joe stepping out on her but…" Tank locks eyes with me with the unspoken knowledge of Joe's many varied extracurricular activities when he and Steph are on a break.

"I went to her parent's house," Lester adds. "Rex is there, and her grandmother said she dropped him off this morning citing a vacation. Her grandmother seemed to think Stephanie was a bit down, and this trip would be a good thing."

I look at Bobby. "I've been concerned about Bombshell," he admits. "I noticed she has been withdrawn, especially since her last car went up." He pauses, shrugging. "I wish I would have asked her about it now, but I assumed she would bounce back, like always."

I think back to the day of Steph's latest car mishap.

 **Flashback**

Date/Time Stamp: Wednesday, 01AUG18 1315-1400

I had returned from my mission that morning, and I am looking forward to surprising Stephanie that evening. I'm sitting at my desk, beginning to assimilate back into Rangeman when Vince rushes into my office reporting her trackers suddenly went offline just as Lester reports hearing her name on the police scanners. The usual crew rushes out of the office and towards the site of the incident. I drive in control but a shade under recklessly as I wonder just how many times she can walk away unscathed; if this was the time I would lose her forever.

I smell the fire before I see it. When I do see it, I swallow a lump as I don't find my Babe during an initial scan of the site but do see a sheet covered gurney. I make my way towards the ambulance with heavy feet before hearing Morelli yelling. I turn my attention to him and see Stephanie sitting on the curb at his feet.

I exhale in relief. She is alive and breathing.

I don't care for Morelli's temper or the way he constantly puts Stephanie down. Easily ignoring him, I sit down next to Steph. My eyes gaze up and down her body seeing no apparent injury.

"Babe," I say in a gentle tone. She doesn't move. I stretch out my index finger and turn her head towards mine.

I vaguely hear Morelli huff, "I'm going to get some Tums. I expect you'll be at my place tonight," before striding away. She reluctantly looks me in the eyes, and I can see the impact the day has had. The normally twinkling blue is replaced by deep, dull midnight. She looks down.

We sit like that for a long moment. I know she hates to cry in front of me, so I give her space. I'm so thankful she is alive. "Would you like a ride?" I ask.

Steph seems to bring herself to the present. "Yes, thank you. To Joe's, please." She takes my offered hand. We walk in silence.

In the car, I want to take her in my arms, but she turns and stares out the window. Steph remains that way, lost once again in her own thoughts throughout the drive to Morelli's. Once parked outside, I take her hand.

"Babe." I try to soften my blank face.

Stephanie looks at me, and I can see she is fighting tears. "I was chasing a skip, Emily Martin," she beings quietly. "I knew her well. We were in the same class in high school. Allegedly, her boyfriend had been verbally abusing her for some time, and one night, after a beer too many, he hit her. She left, but when she came back home, he was balls deep in another girl, in their bed. She shot both of them. They'll live, and she was charged with attempted murder." Stephanie pauses, her shoulders lowering. She turns to look back out the window before continuing. "I found her at her home. She told me she would rather die before going back to jail. She ran. If I was better at my job, I could have stopped her there, but instead she made it down the block to my car. I caught up to her as she threw a lighter in my gas tank." I hear her breath catch and turn her face gently back towards me.

It isn't the tears running down her cheeks that catch my attention, but rather the unbridled, yet quiet sadness that seems to have consumed her body. I wipe away a tear with my thumb.

"I think everyone is right. It is my fault. I get people killed." She pulls her hand away.

I pause, considering my response. It is true she should be better trained, and if she was, there would be fewer incidents such as this one. That, however, is a conversation for another day. Regardless, this responsibility is not hers. I want to support her and help her find her strength again. "It is not your fault Emily chose to commit suicide," I say firmly.

After another silent moment where she seems to be gathering herself, I hear her whisper, "Good night, Ranger. I'm so glad you are home again." The car door shuts behind her.

 **End of Flashback**

I should have done more that day, and I won't drive away from her again. "I am going to intercept Stephanie. Based on her current route and average speed, she will pass through Fayetteville around 1630. It's 1230 now," I say, glancing at my watch. "Tank, have the Rangeman plane ready to depart by 1400. I'll be there at 1330. Have a car ready upon landing. Lester, confirm Hector has the feed from her trackers uploading real time into my phone. Alert me specifically to any important deviations. Once I reach her position, I'll let you know. I plan on going offline sometime after that. Bobby, drive me to the airport. Depart at 1300. Questions, comments, concerns?"

With that, the meeting is adjourned, and I retreat to my office. I don't know how long I will be gone, so I gather some work materials and laptop to add to my overnight bag. I am going to commit to Stephanie for as long as it takes to bring her home.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: A special thank you to misty23y for volunteering to be my Beta! Check out her work! A continued thank you for all the reviews. I genuinely appreciate all of them.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 14SEP18 1430

 **Stephanie POV**

Through all of the emotional turmoil and mental uncertainty of the past three months, I have strived to be my own Wonder Woman. Yet it seems as much as I tried, the worse things have gotten. Once I began to feel all those things I worked so hard to deny, I couldn't get it to stop. It's why I had to leave. I know I am going to fall apart, and, I pray, find a way to put myself back together again. I don't want to do it in front of the entire Burg.

I know Ranger can track me. I was afraid if I ditched the trackers, he would spend a ridiculous amount of money and time to find me. I don't want him to waste any more resources on me. I can't handle being anyone's entertainment right now. Regardless, I don't know if he will leave me alone or not. He doesn't seem to want me except when he can't have me. It makes sense. I'm not good enough for him to commit to me. Why be tethered to someone who is obviously not in his league? A tear leaks by, but I furiously wipe it away. Not yet.

I cross into North Carolina. A billboard advertising sweet tea looms ahead. It makes me think of my mother. I don't know why she feels we believe she is sipping iced tea constantly when we all know it's some of Tennessee's or Kentucky's finest spirits. If I were to ask, she would say it's my fault, so I don't. She lets me know enough of what she thinks.

I know I've spent my life attempting to erase the sins of my youth. We both know it's why I married the Dick. I tried to be what she wanted. I wanted her forgiveness for being Morelli's slut. The day she found out about the Tasty Pastry incident was the worst. If I'm honest what Morelli did then was worse, but the damage my mom inflicted was a close second.

As the yellow lane divider lines flash before me, I drift back to that fateful evening.

 **Flashback**

I'm 16 almost 17, and it is the summer before my senior year of high school. The day began with the bright promise of an early June morning filled with warmth, freedom, and fun. I have a job at the Tasty Pastry. It's my dream summer job, and I am beyond excited to be able to earn the extra spending cash and have ready access to all my favorite treats.

It's a great day, and I'm developing a rhythm. It's fun being able to anticipate the needs of the regulars and guess what treats the random customers will choose. I'm beginning to clean up for the day when Joe Morelli comes in. "Hey, Joe," I say with a smile. He gives me a devastatingly handsome smile in return. Joe is the most popular boy in school, and he is smiling at me! Butterflies flap furiously in my stomach.

"Do you know I'm leaving for the Navy tomorrow?" he asks me, his eyes scanning my body.

I blush and bite my bottom lip, "I've heard. Which sweet treat would you like before your departure? It's on the house," I ask innocently.

"What I want isn't in the case, it's behind it," Joe responds, his eyes getting darker as he moves around the counter.

I'm wondering if he is going to kiss me. I'm nervous but thrilled. I can't believe he is thinking about me! I remain cemented in place, getting the tingles of anticipation. He places his hand on my waist, and slowly lowers his lips. The kiss begins sweet but quickly becomes deeper, his tongue pushing through my lips. No one has ever kissed me like this before. His hands start to roam over my breasts before sliding under my shirt. The butterflies sink in my stomach.

I attempt to take a step back. Joe steps with me. I'm nervous, and a little scared. Does he know I'm a virgin? I'm not sure I want my first time to be like this, as flattered as I am he seems so into me. "Joe…" I try to begin. "Relax," he murmurs into my ear.

"I don't want to lose my job," I blurt out. "We shouldn't do this here. I can meet you at Pino's later," I say quickly, hoping he doesn't outright reject me.

"Don't worry. It won't take long," Joe cajoles.

Just as I open my mouth to say no, he is kissing me again, and I find myself pushed to the floor.

At that moment, I froze. My brain and limbs seem to be at war with each other. This is happening. True to his word, it didn't take long.

"See you when I get back, Cupcake," he said over his shoulder, walking out of the bakery.

I scramble to the employee restroom to clean myself up. I finish my end of day shift responsibilities, but I'm behind schedule. I run all the way home despite how much my groin hurts. It doesn't matter. I want to be holed up in my bedroom, and I don't want to deal my mother's scrutiny. As I quietly open the door, I know the effort didn't matter. Stupid. I smack my palm into my forehead. I should have called.

"Stephanie Plum! Where have you been? You are an hour late! What will the neighbor's think? I'll tell you – they'll think I have a loose daughter, that's what! Now get cleaned up for dinner before it gets any colder," my mother yells as I walk into the house.

I dare to hope that would be it. I turn the shower on hotter than usual while scrubbing every inch of me as hard as I can. Tears stream down my face, but I determinedly make no sound. I had thought sex was supposed to be good. I guess just not for me. For me it was all sharp pain, jabbing discomfort and lingering aches. I hope I can hide this and forget about it.

I try to look like a good daughter, choosing my clothes carefully as I go to sit at the table. It's empty save for my mother sitting, nursing an iced drink. Her expression causes my breathing to stop. She knows.

"Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie." She twirls the drink around in her hands. "Heaven knows I have had my hands full with you. I can't be that bad of a mother, because your sister is wonderful." She takes a sip. "No, it's you."

I feel my stomach knot.

"While you were upstairs, I received three phone calls. The only reason the phone isn't ringing now is that it is off the hook. It seems the entire town knows why you weren't home for dinner tonight." I look down at my hands, tightly clenched in my lap.

For the first time, mom starts to raise her voice. "I TOLD you that Morelli boy was trouble." Her hand loudly slaps the table. "You didn't listen to me at six, and it seems ten years later, you haven't listened again. You tainted yourself. You are dirty. Everyone will know you as the town bicycle; the girl any boy can get a ride on. So easy. You disgust me." Whatever adolescent joy I have left in me dies.

"You are grounded. You can't be seen around town. You've already been fired from your job. That was the third call. You will spend your summer home. I expect you to graduate next spring with marks high enough to go to college away from here. Perhaps in a few years, you will have redeemed yourself enough to put this reputation you earned behind you." She pauses to drain her cup. "You are excused, and you better pray as you've never prayed before that you aren't pregnant." The thought hadn't even occurred to me. That began the longest three weeks of my life.

 **End of Flashback**

I'm grateful I didn't have a baby with Joe as a result of that day. It's why I'm such a stickler for condoms with Joe now. That, and perhaps, a bit of mistrust. I drive on.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Big thanks to misty23y for being my beta. We've edited through Chapter 13, and this story is better for her efforts. Her own stories are great, and I hope you get a chance to read them.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 14SEP18 1600

 **Stephanie POV**

Pulling into a gas station somewhere in North or South Carolina, I'm not sure where; I think about my mom and Joe.

I have spent years cultivating a deep hatred for Joe Morelli, and then I spent the last couple years attempting to undo that hatred. I can say I even tried to love him. Running him over with Big Blue was one of the real joys of my life, as was locking him in the back of the meat truck. Both times I felt like I had some of my power and control back.

My mother is thrilled with the idea of the two of us. In her eyes, it makes me less of a slut. Maybe even someone she could love again. Redeemed. I've gotten so used to feeling rejected that the idea of being accepted by my mother has probably done more to propel the relationship along than I want to admit.

I walk into the seedy public restroom, covered with graffiti. Messages to call, of love eternal, gang signs, and random swear words littered the walls. Suddenly, my mind is back in a similar restroom in Trenton.

 **Flashback**

Date/Time Stamp: Thursday, 30AUG18 1430-2200

It has been a difficult two and a half months. First, there was discovering the bet from Michael. Then, six weeks later, Emily took her life by using my car. I've since replaced the car, but my mojo hasn't been as easy to fix. I've been having a hard time with my skips after Emily. I decided to take fewer cases, being more selective and veering towards my regulars and those who seemed low-hassle. While I hate stakeouts, I'm doing my best to play my apprehensions safer and gather more intel, making a plan rather than simply rush in headlong. I've been trying to remember everything Ranger taught me, and I've even been carrying my SW, loaded. I thought about asking him for help, but for many reasons, I can't.

I won't put myself in a position where I take from him again. He's done too much already. He may have said there is no price for what we do for each other, but that ledger had a lot of expenses on it. His friendship is important to me. I'm desperately afraid that if he were to see any more of my ineptitude, it could be the end of it. As a result, I'm operating solo, attempting to improve myself.

So, here I am on a stakeout and to help me stay awake, I had one too many Cokes. There is no movement from inside the skip's house, but if I didn't move soon, there would be way too much movement from my exploding bladder. I turn the car around and head to the nearest gas station. The women's restroom is out of order, so I hobble into the men's room as fast as my closed knee walk can take me.

While sitting on the throne, my eyes dart around to avoid thinking about how dirty and worn the stall is. It has been a long time, if ever, since this bathroom has seen an update. Suddenly, my eyes stop.

 _Juicy, tart, and pink  
This Plum would like you to think  
Her sex hasn't had meat, but  
Stephanie's my sweet treat  
Sloppy seconds are all you'd get  
But at least you know she's already wet  
_ _There's no way you can fake  
_ _That she's tastes like a Cupcake_

How is it that this poem is still around town? How many more have survived? I feel nauseous and run from the restroom. I get in my car and drive aimlessly, thinking.

I'm shocked. I thought those stupid messages were long gone. Does the past ever just stay in the past?

I reflect on the past several weeks. I realize that for whatever reason, many of my worst memories, especially with Joe, seem to have unleashed themselves in my brain. They are raw, ever present, and threatening to consume me. I wish I knew how to file them away again, to forget and go back to the way things were.

Why did I let Joe back into my life? Why am I with him? Everyone I know seems to think it is natural. My mom, Angie Morelli, hell, even Ranger. But then again, I've never told Ranger the truth about my history with Joe. I don't think I've ever told myself the truth about what has happened between us. Is a relationship between Joe and myself seen as natural because of who we are as a couple, or is it perceived to be inevitable because of everyone else's perceptions on what a happily ever after should be?

I think part of me believes being with Joe excuses the past. It's as though our current relationship allows me to wear rose-colored glasses when reviewing our history.

Joe is still one of the hottest guys in town, and certainly Chambersburg's most eligible bachelor. A part of me continues to be flattered that he would choose me. Until recently, our sex life was amazing.

Do I believe people can change? Do I believe Joe has changed? Do I believe he loves me?

Joe is waiting for me on the couch when I walk into my apartment. "Hey, Cupcake! The boys were hoping you'd be home." Ugh. Not how I had wanted to be greeted by my boyfriend.

"Please Joe, no," I start. "It's been a long day, and I'm not feeling it right now." Joe gets up and walks towards me.

As he stands before me, his face softens, and he surprises me with a hug. It's warm and long, and I melt into it. This is one of the reasons we are together, the times when he holds me, helping me to feel safe and loved. We walk with his arm around me to the couch, and I rest my head on his shoulder. He is running his fingers along my sleeve.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. I'm touched by his attentiveness.

I close my eyes. "I've been struggling and down since Michael and Emily," I confess, willing to broach some of what is on my mind, see where it goes.

"With all the crazies in your life, it's no wonder," he says. "I know you think giving up your job and to settle down with a family scares you, but would it really be so bad?"

For the first time in a long time, this almost sounds reasonable. I'm deeply appreciative of this tender moment. Would our life together, without the drama my job causes, be like this? Would I gain more than the freedom I think I'll be losing?

At that moment, Ranger flashes in my mind. Deep down, I know with Ranger I wouldn't be risking giving up anything. He helps me fly. If I'm honest with myself, I also know that Ranger makes me feel safe and loved, too.

"I don't know," I simply reply.

Joe gives me his sexiest smile, saying "That's the best answer you've given me yet!"

As we settle into bed that evening, he moves to kiss me, slowly and then with more heat. Bolstered by our evening together, I feel a greater desire for sex than I have these past couple months. I kiss him back, and he rolls on top of me. As much as I try to relax, to enjoy what should be pure pleasure, the events of the day crash down on me. Between the poem, fresh in my mind and the heavy body on top of me, I am caught again in the memories and emotions of the past. He strokes me intimately with his hand, and I'm in his father's garage. He thrusts inside me, and I'm on the floor of the Tasty Pastry.

How did I get so broken?

When we finish, I excuse myself to shower, and once again, I feel the need to scrub myself hard while silent tears cascaded down.

 **End of Flashback**

I shake my head to get back into the present. I get back in my car. I don't know where I am going to stop, but I'm not far enough yet.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Thanks again to misty23y for her efforts as my beta! To my reviewers – THANK YOU! I'm blown away by 80 reviews, and I'm in even greater awe to have had 1,459 visitors from 20 countries. Amazing! Once we reach 100 reviews, I will load a bonus chapter! To those who left comments that I cannot reply directly to, I appreciate your encouragement and reflection.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 14SEP18 1600-2230

 **Ranger POV**

Having landed in Fayetteville, I'm pleased to see a black Ford Mustang waiting for me. It's 1600 as planned. I recheck the trackers and see Stephanie is 30 minutes ahead of me on I-95 and traveling between 85-90 mph. I'm not catching her any time soon, but I won't be far behind when she stops either.

With the road looming long for an unknown distance ahead of me, I slip into my zone, as Steph calls it. _Why am I doing this?_ The thought catches me by surprise. I mean, it's Stephanie. My Babe. Why wouldn't I? She's the light to my darkness. She's my best friend.

Deep down, I know it's more than that. As much as I don't want to admit it, I know that I'm in love with her. I've never loved anyone who wasn't already family, and I'm afraid. I didn't love Rachel; she was a fling, a one-night stand. I married her to give Julie legitimacy, so Rachel could have health benefits and access to my death benefits for Julie should something happen to me. Stephanie came out of right field.

She calls me her Batman. It's cute that she thinks of me as her personal superhero, but at some point, she will realize I'm human. I'm a dark, flawed human who has seen and inflicted some of the greatest depravities humankind is capable of. I don't deserve her, and I will only end up as another person who hurts her.

I think again of the last few weeks. Lester, Bobby, and Tank are right. Her light hasn't shone as brightly, and we've all been less as a result. Steph is the only person who has managed to both understand and accept the men of Rangeman without prejudice. She has time and time again put herself aside at the smallest opportunity to help one of us. How have we returned that kindness? More importantly, how have I?

Sure, I've always managed to be there to save her life. Yes, we've had four incredible nights. I shake my head at the memories. I told her I would ruin her for other men, but she was the one who ruined me for other women. Her kisses then to now have lifted my soul more than I care to admit. But how else have I been there for her? After that night, I sent her back to Morelli when she was ready to be mine. I've made her feel as though she was entertainment when I failed to clarify that unfortunate accounting discovery. I told her I am an opportunist, that my love came with a condom and not a ring. Recently, I've noticed she was struggling, but I kept my distance.

Fuck. I really am an asshole. Mile marker after mile marker passed.

What if she is ready to be done with all this bullshit once and for all? What if she wants to be done with me? I know she isn't with Morelli right now, but what if I'm next on the cutting block? Can I blame her? I've told her many times not now. Wait for _someday_ I keep telling her.

I pass a sign indicating the turnoff to Charleston. She's the only person I'd want to take for a long weekend there, old Southern antebellum and charm. I know I've been wasting time we could have been together having these adventures. Perhaps, on our way back to Trenton we can stop over in Charleston, begin our someday together with a week-long getaway.

I watch the shadows become longer as the pink hues of evening slowly become the deeper purples and blues of dusk.

Shaking my head, I confront one of the most touted reasons I've offered for keeping Steph away. I have enemies. It's a fact. It's not like it's mattered, though. Her enemies and mine have been a constant feature regardless of how much I've held her at arm's length. With each Scrog, Abruzzi, Orin, Stiva, or Ramirez, my primary defense has been weakened. Whether or not we are in a declared relationship doesn't seem to matter that much to those who want to do us harm.

My contract is up this year. Regardless of how things turn out with Stephanie, it's time. I can feel it in my bones, literally. Fieldwork is the job of a younger man. I need to move forward with my life. So, what? Why won't I give a relationship with Stephanie a chance?

I contemplate this as night's darkness claims the last of the evening's shadows. Deep down, I know the answer. It's fear. The word itself can barely whisper through me. I am someone who absolutely refuses to ever acknowledge fear in any situation. It's how I am strong, how I survive. Openly loving my Babe creates a vulnerability. My heart is freely in her hands, and what she does with it is out of my control. I've told her once before; she has all the power. I don't think she truly understands what that means.

It's time for me to end the excuses. Deep down, I know I have had a role to play in this exodus Steph has undertaken. It's time to take responsibility for my actions or lack thereof.

I sigh audibly now. I decide to stop at the next station on the northern outskirts of Savannah. Pulling over I check my phone and see Steph has managed to increase the distance between us. It only serves to amplify the feeling I have she is running with abandon. I hope I can catch her before she crashes.

 **Stephanie POV**

The sun has long set when I see a sign saying, "WELCOME TO FLORIDA!" The lights of Jacksonville loom ahead. It's after 10 at night, but I still can't stop. Maybe it's the caffeine, or maybe it's the desperation. I know I'll have to stop eventually. Hell, I'll run out of road to drive if I keep going this way. I turn towards St. Augustine. I want to drive towards the ocean. When I stop, it will be someplace where I can hear the waves.

The blackness of the night makes me think of Ranger. I still occasionally find it unbelievable my best friend is a battle-hardened hero who most people would instinctually dismiss out of fear at first sight, that is after they got over how incredibly gorgeous he is. It was never that way for me with any the Merry Men. I just never saw anything to be afraid of. Sure, I see the scars and toughness, but I also see loyalty, determination, integrity, and courage. They are undoubtedly the most exceptional people I know, Ranger first and foremost.

I know I'm in love with him. I've known that since that first day in the diner. I also know I'm not worthy of him. I'm not beautiful enough, fit enough, smart enough, financially savvy enough; anything enough. I used to think I was at least average. I want to be Wonder Woman, but I think she got lost somewhere.

In the back of my head, I know some of these problems could be surmounted with a bit of work on my part. The problem is with the how. Most of it would require Ranger's help, and I simply can't ask him. He's already spent so much time and money on me. Yet, it's more than that. I try to cover up my ineptitude with my own creative style, ultimate success garnered mostly through tenacity and luck, and Jersey attitude. I'm pretty sure if he realized just how much I suck, he would tell me the same thing as Joe – just quit. It would break my heart if he did. At least right now I have an occasional "Proud of you, Babe" to lift me up. He's the only one who has ever told me they are proud of me. I can't lose that.

I turn onto A1A south of St. Augustine, and I'm greeted with a slower drive along the Atlantic coast. I roll down my windows and let the salty breeze fill the car.

I know I've settled on being something between a friend and a lover with Ranger. There is unquestionably a spark between us. His kisses in the alley, hands brushing my breasts when he places a wire before a distraction job, and the few times where we shared a bed bring a warmth to my body I didn't know was possible. He inexorably consumes me. Joe has been comfortable, easy and fun. Ranger made good on his promise. I am ruined for all other men. There really is no comparison.

I know he sits in the chair in the corner of my bedroom to watch me sleep at night. He has his reasons and is always respectful of me, so I let him think I'm sleeping. It's oddly intimate and comforting, and I'm left with the impression he uses that chair to chase some of his ghosts away.

Since he's been back, however, I've avoided those moments. I've slept all but two nights at Joe's, and I know he visited those two nights. While I've been coming to the realization things need to end between Joe and me permanently, I don't want Ranger to be caught in the middle. I may be in a twisted love triangle, but the last thing I want is to give Joe an opening to use my friendship with Ranger against him in some way.

I think I'm also ashamed. I frown further at the thought.

As much as Ranger uses that chair to chase his ghosts, I think he may also have the superpower to see some of mine. I haven't been ready to face all the memories forcing themselves upon me recently, and I certainly can't verbalize them all to another person. If he saw how little I really sleep, it would push the conversation that I am driving all this distance to avoid. For once I'm hoping I have the strength to exit denial land, break down, and put myself back together.

When I finish this journey, I want to return a different person, a stronger person. Someone who is willing and capable to stand up for herself, to permit herself to pursue her dreams her way. I want to have made some decisions that will make my life better. I can't continue the way things are.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Confetti! Fanfare! YIPPEE! You guys are the best! In celebration of the first one hundred reviews, here is the promised bonus chapter. Happy Monday, and Happy Labor Day to my American readers.

Thanks again to misty23y for her efforts as my beta! _I Should Have Known Better_ is now complete, and she posted the first chapter of _Metamorphosis_ Saturday. Check it out!

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 14SEP18 2200-Saturday, 15SEP18 0100

 **Stephanie POV**

Even in the hypnosis of the road haze, I am taken by the beauty of the Florida coast along the A1A. Lights bob and twinkle in the distance, and the moon glints off the horizon. I've always found peace in the sound of the ocean waves, and when I fix on the point where the sea meets the endless horizon, I imagine the possibilities that lay just beyond. Perhaps in another life, I was a mermaid.

I yawn. I know I need to stop. It's after midnight as I see a sign for Daytona Beach. I snort. It would seem God has a sense of humor that my race away from the Burg would land me in NASCAR's mecca. I stop at an economy hotel with balconies facing the beach and yellow lighted words indicating there are vacancies.

I park the car and get out, but I'm not ready to be done for the night. First, I decide to get a room. The lobby is small and worn, but clean. It features a sun-faded art print on one wall of a palm tree in a bamboo frame, a padded aluminum-framed chair with yellowed foam peaking from the corner and a brochure bin with flyers colorfully advertising all the best deals on the best activities. The night manager strides out from the back. She has bleach blonde hair, a tan that gives her skin a prematurely aged and weathered appearance and enough mascara to make this Jersey girl proud. Her uniform is a Bermuda shirt also featuring palm trees, nametag labeled Dawn. "How many nights you planning on staying, Sweetie?" she asked with a voice rough from years of cigarette use.

I hadn't really considered this. How long does it take for someone to have a mental breakdown? "Four, but would I have the option of adding more if I want?" I ask. She uses a fuchsia gel-tipped finger to tap the keyboard of the ancient booking computer. "Sure thing. Name?" I want to give a fake, but as I could guess my movements had already been tracked, it seems stupid. "Stephanie Plum," I sigh in resignation before completing the rest of the check-in process. I made sure I had a room facing the ocean.

I wasn't ready to sleep yet. Sleep has been elusive these past couple months. It's a haunting, horrible ordeal I can't make myself face easily. I shuffled across the street where several businesses had late night hours.

The convenience store on the corner had narrow aisles, bars on the doors and windows and a height strip on the metal door frame to help ID a potential criminal on the run. It was a beacon in the night with a half dozen neon signs in the windows featuring cheap smokes and lotto. Next door was a discount liquor store.

Roaming market, there wasn't anything I wanted to snack on. I grabbed a box of Pop Tarts and ZzzQuil. I figured I would get hungry eventually, and if sleep eluded me forever, a drugged trip to forced rest might be a good idea.

Exiting, I detoured to the liquor store next door. I consider myself a one drink wonder but damn if a drink didn't sound pretty good about now. Even better than the bottle of Z's, I was totally okay with the fuzzy haze alcohol would bring. It's hard to feel a lot smashed. Tonight, I decided to give denial land one last farewell party before letting it all crash down tomorrow. I grabbed a bottle of Fireball, crossed the street to my car to snag my duffel bag and headed up to my room. It was time to get this party started.

 **Ranger POV**

I stop at a gas station on the Florida-Georgia line around 2230. I've been pushing myself driving, but I can't seem to get any closer than 30 minutes behind. I double check the map when I see she is now traveling on A1A south of St. Augustine. My Babe is drawn to the ocean like a magnet.

I'm worried about how long she has been driving. It takes a lot of mental stamina or something propelling you internally to put in the miles she has today, and she hasn't stopped yet. Based on the pace, I'm not even sure if she is eating. I hope she doesn't get into an accident along the way and has the sense to stop soon.

On the road again, I increase my speed more than before as I attempt to catch up with her _. What's your plan when you get there?_ A thought worth pondering. Her actions indicate a desire to be alone, and I don't want to scare her off. I decide to respect her independence and will attempt to put myself in a position where I can observe undetected, stepping in when my gut, heart or head tells me its time. I meant what I told the Core Team. I'm here for the long haul. The unspoken truth is I'll follow that woman to the ends of the earth if it means having her in my life.

 _But what's your plan?_ The little voice beckons again. I love her. I'm willing to do anything for her. _Except give her your heart._ I feel my breath catch, and I frown, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.

What do I want when I hopefully bring Steph back to Trenton with me? To send her back to Morelli again? _No!_ Keep things the way they are? No. Stephanie has been avoiding me, and I haven't gone out of my way to interact with her. The best I've been able to hope for these past two months is to sit in a chair in the dark corner of her room or to meet up in the Bonds office. Even there, she's avoided any advances on my part to steer us to the alley. What if she doesn't want more than the friendship I've offered her anymore? Could I blame her?

I know before I can move forward with Stephanie, I need to figure out what I'm willing to offer her in return. I can give her my love, my body, my money, but can I give her my heart, all of it? Can I offer her a ring, that commitment that she's ingrained to want from me? Am I truly opposed to having another child should that be something Steph wants? I know friends with benefits won't work with my Babe, but can I give her want she needs?

Shaking my head, I know it is time for me to man up. I need to hurdle this uncertainty, bridge the distance between us. It's true she might reject me, but somehow, I don't think she will. I must muster the courage to allow her the opportunity to take my heart or break it.

I'm pulled out from my contemplation with a text alert from Lester. He reports Stephanie has checked into a motel using her credit card in Daytona Beach, address included. I'm 20 minutes behind her. I text him to have the adjacent room booked for me, key card waiting at the front desk.

I see Steph's car in the parking lot and deliberately park in a far corner where I can observe the lot, lobby and nearby businesses undetected. Rather than jump out, I cut the lights and engine and use the next couple of minutes to gather intel about my surroundings.

The nearby properties seem weathered but not downtrodden. There is public beach access from the adjacent street between the hotels. There are all the regular convenience stores, restaurants, and bars one would expect in a tourist community. I see movement across the street, and I'm surprised to see Stephanie stepping out of the liquor store.

In all the time I've known her, she has never used alcohol as the cure-all I've seen exhibited in others, even myself on occasion. Whatever is bothering her is more significant than I thought, and I'm glad I decided to be here. I watch her walk to her car before climbing the stairway on the outside of the motel to the third story entrance. She keeps her head low, shoulders down, and is shuffling her feet. I'm not able to see her face until she reaches the stairway landing. She pauses to look at the ocean, and as she turns, I swallow hard at a glimpse of her face. There is none of the spark, the smile or the general joy that usually permeates her caring soul. _Babe, what's wrong?_


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Thanks again to misty23y for her efforts as my beta!

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 15SEP18 0100-0145

 **Stephanie POV**

I dropped my bag on the first of two queen beds filling the room. The single A/C unit rumbled and blew, doing nothing to lessen the ever-present humidity. The bathroom had a slight mildew odor that not even a daily bleach-based wipe down by housekeeping could hide.

I grab a cup from a convenience items tray in the bathroom and pushed the cheap, almost clear plastic glass out of its cellophane wrapper. I pull the polyester blanket covered in an ostentatious display of palm trees and wrap it around myself, snagging the Fireball on the way. I shuffle to the balcony and stand there, staring out at the ocean.

The porch itself is a small piece of real estate. It has solid walls giving the illusion of privacy from one balcony to the next. The wall itself was set at an angle, smaller at the ceiling, the bottom squaring off to connect with the safety railing. The walls were made of off-white stucco, the rails of steel pipe painted white and chipping away at places. There were two dingy white patio chairs with a small circular table separating them in one corner chained to the wall. On the opposite corner is a single white lounge chair with two-inch support stripes wrapped around the frame, also fastened to the wall. I settle in the lounge chair and pour myself my first drink.

I down it, grimacing slightly and then relaxing as the burning in my throat turns into warmth spreading out in a numbing relaxation. I pour a second and think about last night.

 **Flashback**

Date/Time Stamp: Thursday, 13SEP18 1800-2300

It has been a miserable two weeks, plagued with nightmares. I can't shake the feeling that Joe isn't telling me the whole truth about the bet, and I can't seem to quiet the memories freely bounding around my brain. Joe and I had not had sex since the last time at my apartment. The corners of my heart that once loved him have slowly been closing themselves off, and I knew it was for good this time. I was ready to get some answers.

I am waiting for Joe in his living room when he arrives home from work.

"Cupcake!" He smiles his Italian Stallion smile at me. "The boys sure have been missing you," he says, waggling his eyebrows while grabbing a beer. He pulls me onto the couch beside him while slinging an arm around my shoulders. I sit stiffly beside him.

"Do you remember the day I picked up Michael Bruno?" I ask. Sensing the seriousness of my mood, he removes his arm from around my shoulders and takes a swig of his beer. "While watching the Phillies game, we had time to catch up on the good ole days." I pause, turning to look him directly in the eyes.

"Tell me about the bet."

Joe grimaces but quickly recovers his confidence. "That old thing! We both know I was a little wild in my youth, but you can't hold that against me now. I thought we were past all this, Cupcake. Is that what's been keeping you from our usual romps between the sheets?"

I'm stunned at how easily he lies to me. I try to keep my emotions from getting the best of me, pressing on, "Then why is the pot collecting interest in a bank account to this day?"

This time he doesn't try to hide his surprise. "No one ever collected on it, and I figured it was forgotten about. It's been so long. Now come on, let's put all this behind us," he says, moving a hand up my thigh.

"No, Joe. It isn't behind us. You know how I feel about the betting about my professional life going on at the police station. You know I hate it. How do you think we can move forward when I know our entire relationship has been built around a bet? I'm having a hard time trusting you!" I'm in complete rhino mode now.

"You're being dramatic," he begins. "It's nothing. All in the past. Let's get back to the present," he continues, moving his hand to the neckline of my shirt, fondling my breast roughly on the way.

"No!" I shout, pushing back quickly. His hand remains in place, and my shirt rips open, revealing my black push up bra. "This is not okay, and it is not in the past!"

I stand up now, moving away from Joe. He has a dark look on his face, and I begin to feel afraid. I need to leave this place, but I also need a shirt. I can only imagine the gossip if I were to run out of here in my bra.

"Oh, so you trust Michael more than me, huh? He told you I need to marry you to win, right? Do you really think the work to have a relationship with you is worth a few measly dollars? And if it was, why would I keep letting you break up with me? It doesn't make sense. The truth is, we both know you are hooked on me, that I'm the best you've ever had." Joe's tone was low and deliberate. As he speaks, I am backing up, towards the wall near the stairs.

He continues forward, trapping me against the wall. I could feel his cock through his pants throbbing harder than I've ever felt it. He pushes roughly against my sex, causing pain as he begins to gyrate. Joe lowers his head to whisper into my ear, "I was your first, and I'll be your last."

I feel my fight or flight instinct kick in. Acting on adrenaline, I slam my knee roughly into his groin. He doubles over, groaning in pain. I grab his dirty Trenton PD t-shirt laying on the end of the stairs and pull it over my head as I find my purse. Saying nothing, I bolt from the house.

Once I get into my apartment, I lock the door and shove a chair under the knob. He is not getting in here that easily tonight. I take the t-shirt off, flinging it into the corner. At this point I begin to shake, feeling the adrenaline crash. I get into the shower, attempting to wash away the feeling of his touch. I am nauseous, and my breathing is unsteady. I want to cry and scream, but I will away all those feelings, digging deep to gain control.

I pull on Ranger's t-shirt and my yoga pants, not wanting to be in just my panties if someone comes over tonight. I take my SW out of my cookie jar, load it and place it on my bedside table. I might not be a skilled fighter, but in my nocturnal paranoia, I'm not going to be unprepared.

I lay down in my bed, on my back, assuming my favorite thinking position. I barely feel safe, and certainly not safe enough to process all the feelings that are threatening to overtake me. I am not going to lose it where I won't have the freedom and space to handle everything and then make a new plan for my life. I am going to leave before I allow myself to break down. _Drive._ It is the last thought I have as I drift into an uneasy sleep.

 **End of Flashback**

Pondering all this, I take another shot. It's a hard thing to realize that when you gave your love away and thought you were being loved, it was never actually returned. I feel myself thoroughly break, and it's a relief to not hold it all together anymore. I take one last drink before returning to the bed, passing out with tears streaming down my face.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: I'm in awe of the wonderful feedback I've received after the last chapter. As I can't reply to everyone directly, please know I am reading and am inspired and encouraged by your engagement.

Thanks, misty23y, for being my beta – you rock!

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 15SEP18 0230

 **Stephanie POV**

I'm walking. The path is crowded; I can't distinguish one person from another. All that surrounds me is a din of voices, a dull roar. I let myself be carried by the masses.

 _Embarrassing._

The word whispers through the roar of the crowd.

 _Failure._

It comes from another direction.

 _Disappointment._

I'm swiveling my head rapidly, never able to find the origin.

I move without purpose, carried by the masses. The words are so quiet I can barely make them out, yet it is the only thing I can hear over the progressively larger and louder mass. Repeating again and again, the words rise like a chant, gaining in intensity and volume.

 _Embarrassing. Failure. Disappointment._

I want to cover my ears, but my arms seem glued to my sides. I feel a hand reach out and brush my elbow. Then another on my waist. I attempt to find a way out of the crowd, but the more I push, the more they push back.

A brush against my breast. A grab of my bottom.

My breathing picks up as I fight the urge to panic. I try to look more intently at faces, hoping to see someone who will help me.

Hands are beginning to pull and tug at my clothing, and suddenly, I gasp in recognition.

The Slayers step out from the crowd. Ramirez presses in on another side. There's DeChooch and Uncle Sunny. Scrog. So many enemies. I turn away as their hands reach out, grabbing, pulling. Ahead of me, I see familiar faces from the Burg. There's my mother, Joyce Barnhardt, the Dick, Terry Gillman, Valerie, Joe. I attempt to reach them. As I get closer, I hear them chanting.

 _Embarrassing. Failure. Disappointment._

They reach out their hands, and the crowd consumes me.

I scream.

I'm out of bed, lurching, heaving. I don't know if it is from the alcohol or the dream.

 **Ranger POV**

I enter my room, sweep it cautiously and make sure the space is secure. I see there is a door connecting our rooms. I inspect it. While there is no knob to Stephanie's side, it will be simple work for me to remove the faceplate and access the locking mechanism if necessary. I move to the patio and silently stand to the side, ensuring Steph would have no chance to see me should she be near the rail.

Listening, I can hear the liquid being poured into a cup. I sit in the corner chair, staring out at the horizon.

As I wait for her to go inside, I contemplate my next move. How long should I remain hidden? Without visual confirmation, I am reasonably sure the repetitive pours I hear are from her liquor store purchase. I don't want to scare or startle her while she is intoxicated. Tonight, I will monitor but keep my distance unless there is a threat. I'll observe through tomorrow and make a move if there is an opportunity. Pending a natural opening, I'll create my own the following day.

Stephanie always seems to have a Spidey sense regarding my presence, and while I've never told her, I do to her as well. We have a connection. I suspect she will figure out I am here without doing much besides waiting.

An hour passes, and the damp, night air has settled on me with a chill. I'm concerned at the number of pours I've heard. I hope she puts down the bottle and chooses to go to bed soon.

There's movement, and through the sounds of rustling and the door, I hear the irregular breathing of silent sobs.

The door closes, and I move to peer around the balcony edge. The sliding door isn't fully closed, and I watch as she stumbles to her bed, tangled in the blanket before collapsing. It doesn't take long before her breaths even out in the rhythm of sleep.

I easily vault the angled barrier between our balconies. A cup is laying on its side, a half-empty pint of whiskey beside it. I slide the door open enough to allow me to move through and ease it closed again. I move to the door between our rooms, unlocking it and ready to slip through should she begin to sense my presence.

My heart bursts at the sadness on her face. While I don't know if she will be happy to find me here, I will never regret coming. I just wish I could take this burden from her.

Steph begins to moan in her sleep and move about. It's clear she is having a nightmare. She's mumbling, and as the intensity of her thrashing increases, I can begin to make out words. Embarrassing. Failure. Disappointment. I frown, and my eyebrows knit together.

All at once, Stephanie lets out a terrified scream, bolts up in bed and runs to the bathroom. I freeze, then melt into the shadows. I can hear her throwing up. I desperately want to go to her, but in this mental state, I decide I will likely do more harm than good. The best thing I can do is to ensure she is safe and help her face the fallout tomorrow. I hear the running of water, and I disappear behind the door separating our rooms, but not closing it entirely so I can continue to monitor her.

Leaning against the wall, I hope for answers in the light of tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: BONUS TIME! I decided we need a doubleheader today. This is one of my favorite chapters. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, I love and value each of your reviews and comments.

Thank you, misty23y, for your continued work as my beta!

I used Google Translate for all text in Spanish. Translation is provided in italics.

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 15SEP18 0840-1100

 **Stephanie POV**

I groan as I blink back against the morning light. My throat feels raw, and my head is pounding. I unwrap myself from the sheets and stumble to the bathroom, choosing to ignore any interaction with the mirror. I relieve myself, splash water on my face, and drink a couple of glasses of water. Thankfully, I'm already feeling better. I pad back into the room, digging in my bag for toiletries and clean underpants. There is nothing quite like clean underpants to change a girl's outlook.

My stomach growls, but there is no way I'm leaving this room, even for food. My eyes land on the Pop Tarts, and I begin to nibble. Some decisions I make are better than others. Brushing my teeth, I turn on the shower. Shedding my clothes quickly, I sigh in relief under the water. The constant stream acts like a baptismal font, washing away the sins of yesterday. While I don't feel great, I'm ready to begin sorting through my life.

I dress, make a cup of coffee, grab the other Pop Tart and move out to the porch. I settle at the table and take in my environment. The coffee is warm in my hands. The ocean is a dull roar. The air smells salty and fresh. The wind blows lightly and ever so chill in the morning breeze. I steadily breathe in and out. Staring at the waves, I attempt to sort my thoughts.

There have been countless memories flooding me lately, and it's left me completely unsettled. I'm questioning my relationships, decision making, safety, and even my sanity. That's when I'm awake! The night is often worse. I'm exhausted to the core of my being.

The nightmares need to stop. I haven't slept a whole night in months. I'm convinced just sleeping would improve my mental health. The desire to reclaim the night is almost a desperation of its own. As I sip my coffee, I find my hand moving unconsciously to the back of my neck.

As I rub, I think back to last night. Drinking to my limit, throwing up, knowing I was past my limit, and stumbling back to bed. I abruptly straighten my posture, almost spilling my coffee in the process. Son of a bitch. I wasn't alone. He's here.

I'm suddenly furious. Everything I do is tracked, monitored. So much for not having an audience for my breakdown. Nothing I do is private. Nothing! I can't even travel a thousand miles and have a night to myself free from judgment and observation. Enough!

I stride towards my bag and pull out my SW before ripping open the door separating me from the adjacent room. I level my weapon and stare into Ranger's eyes.

He looks surprised for a second, and then the blank face slams into place. His hands are up slightly, his body still, tense, and ready to react.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?" I yell. "What do you want from me?"

He never breaks eye contact. "Babe," he starts, then pauses.

"Not good enough," I growl. "Do NOT Babe me right now. What are you doing here? Have you come to take me home? Did you choose to come yourself, or did someone ask you to come? You know what, I'm not even sure it matters. The bottom line is you wasted a trip because I'm not going back until I decide I'm ready." I don't lower my weapon. The king of the one-word answers will need to start talking.

Rangers blank face suddenly disappears, and I'm confronted with more unspoken words than he has ever shown me. There's concern, compassion, and love? I narrow my eyes, not trusting what I see.

"I'm here to be with you. I followed you because there is no place else I'd rather be." Ranger's words are soft, gentle.

I unblinkingly stare at him, but my arms begin to drop.

Ranger continues, "I knew from the moment I read your note something was wrong. I also know I should have been there for you months ago. I can't change the past, but I can do something about the future." He begins to slowly inch towards me, his eyes never breaking contact with mine.

"Babe, let me in. Let me help you."

With that, my anger dissolves, and I collapse in a heap of gut-wrenching sobs, crying as I've never cried before. In a second, Ranger has taken my revolver, and he's on his knees beside me. I pull myself into a ball, my face and fists on the ground. I'm completely overwhelmed; I'm consumed by the force of my emotions. He lifts me up.

We settle onto the bed, and I sob deeply into his chest. Every feeling from when I was six until today, every moment of shame and vulnerability, embarrassment and failure, all the realizations of not being loved are poured out from me. I feel him rubbing my back, stroking my hair, and murmuring in Spanish. The actions ground me, and I begin to feel safer than I ever have.

I make no attempt to speak or justify myself. It's enough to be here. As my sobs lessen, fatigue overtakes me, and I fall asleep in Ranger's arms, gripping his wet shirt. My last thoughts are how grateful I am he is here.

 **Ranger POV**

I'm sitting in the stiff corner chair. My hands are resting at the arms, and I'm considering how my day will go. I know I should let Steph make the first move, but since I've come to realize how much I love her, I'm struggling to keep my distance. I have the door between our rooms open on my side, and it is only through years of highly developed discipline that I'm not currently pushing her door open. I will get one chance at a first impression; I don't want to blow it.

Suddenly, the door I'm staring down opens so hard it bounces off the wall before settling back again. I'm reflexively on my feet adapting combat ready posture. I'm in the process of pulling out my Glock when my brain catches up to tell me it's Stephanie pointing her weapon at me. I pause, deciding not to pull my gun. By the look on her face, I can see she is angry, but beneath it, I see a flash of uncertainty. I don't want to do anything to agitate her mental state further. Regardless, I'm in close enough range where I could physically disarm her in a second if I needed to.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?" she yells. "What do you want from me?"

I maintain eye contact. "Babe," I say, then pause. I'm trying to decide how best not to screw this up when she confronts me with direct abandon. It's clear she was hoping to be left alone, but I can also see she is vulnerable and afraid. That's when it hit me. She wants to know she can trust me.

I immediately drop my blank face. I'm surprised she can't figure out why I'm here. I've been nothing if not exceedingly attentive to her physical safety. I know it's more than that. I decide to show her how much she means to me and to trust her with my heart.

"I'm here to be with you. I followed you because there is no place else I'd rather be," I say in a soft voice.

I can see she is beginning to crack. I desperately want to hold her in my arms, but it will be much better for us if she chooses to drop the weapon. I keep talking to her as her arms waiver. I'm moving forward slowly, closing the remaining distance between us.

I'm a foot away. The hurricane churning through her blue eyes breaks my heart.

"Babe, let me in. Let me help you." I'm holding my breath.

At once I see her defenses fall, and she collapses. At last, I'm beside her. I take control of her SW, stow it in my waistband and take a quick glance around her room to ensure there wasn't another immediate reason she would be carrying her revolver loaded. I'm not sure she has ever carried her gun loaded without it being at my insistence before. _What have I missed? How did I not see what was going on with her?_

Her sobs are so raw they threaten to rip my own soul apart. Anything I have to offer, anything I am I would freely give her to lessen this burden. I hope at this moment my presence is enough. I lift her from the ground, cradling her heaving form in my arms. She's lighter than I remember, and I frown further.

We lay together on the bed, and I try to comfort her. Stroking her back and hair, I softly murmur in Spanish, "Mi amor, ¿por qué te duele? Estoy aquí para ti. Te quiero, y nunca me iré de nuevo. Quiero ayudarte. Espero tenerte como mi esposa algún día. Quiero vivir contigo y ser tu alma gemela. Tuviste mi corazón desde la primera vez que nos conocimos. Querida, calma. Shhhh…."I intend to tell her these words when she will understand them soon. Little by little her sobs lessen, and Steph drifts off to sleep. Even in sleep, she seems to be tense and maintains a grip on my shirt. The grip she has on my heart is tighter.

 _(My love, why do you hurt? I'm here for you. I love you, and I will never leave again. I want to help you. I hope to have you as my wife someday. I want to live with you and be your soulmate. You had my heart from the first time we met. Dearest one, calm.)_


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: I'm blown away by the feedback I received from the last chapter. Thank you to all my reviewers. You guys are the best!

Thank you, misty23y, for your continued work as my beta! This story is better because of you.

Google Translate has been used for all text in Spanish. Translation has been provided in italics.

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 15SEP18 1100-1900

 **Ranger POV**

I watch through the blinds as the sun rises to its apex and down again as Steph lays beside me. She seems utterly exhausted, but it's not a peaceful sleep. Her jaw remains locked as she sleeps with her hands in fists. I had a sense her body had chosen sleep, but not her mind.

Holding her, I considered what I know. I know she is trying to get away from one or more people in the Burg area. I know that whatever it is that is bothering her has been building since at least, and more likely before my return. I know she has been withdrawn from her friends and family. I know she hasn't been eating as well. Her current actions border on desperation. She is having a difficult time trusting people. I'm concerned about her overall mental health.

I know I love her. I'm kicking myself for not being a better friend and making more of an effort at being in her life. I will undoubtedly be working to remedy that situation now.

As the shadows grow long, Steph wakes with a start beside me. She immediately rolls to the side of the bed with a wide-eyed look. I sense panic. I remain still, not wanting to frighten her.

"Babe," I say softly. The nickname has always worked to connect us. "It's okay." I never break eye contact.

Stephanie seems to waiver, working to regain her sense of order. She sags slightly and says, "You're still here." I think she is surprised, but the words themselves sound dejected.

She stands, smooths her clothes with her hands and begins to walk towards the bathroom. Steph takes three steps and pauses. I tense slightly, getting ready to move. Her hand moves to her stomach as she takes another step. She wobbles, and I'm on my feet as she crashes to the ground. I catch her before her head hits the floor.

Steph groans and mumbles, "I don't feel very good." I lay her on the bed again and grab the trash can from the corner should she throw up.

On the way, I notice the half-eaten Pop Tart. "Babe, when was the last time you ate?" I ask.

Stephanie is ashen and sweating. She mumbles something about not being sure when her last meal was, two or three days ago, maybe. _Shit._ I pour a cup of water and grab the leftover Pop Tart for her. I encourage her to take small sips and bites, letting it settle gradually. I flip open the motel information folder and pick up the flier for local pizza delivery. I use my persuasive voice to encourage speedy delivery. I have no doubt this pie will be here in under 30 minutes.

I dampen a washcloth in cold water and wipe her face. Worry has settled like a knot in my core. I kneel beside her, whispering, "Querida,¿por qué no estás comiendo? No desaparezcas en mi. Tu eres mi corazón y alma. Déjame amarte como mereces ser amado." _(Dear, why aren't you eating? Don't disappear on me. You are my heart and soul. Let me love you like you deserve to be loved.)_

Steph eases herself into a seated position on the bed, using my arm as support. I continue to kneel beside her. I reach out to take her hand, and I'm relieved she doesn't pull away.

"Babe," I start. "Rest, we will sort this out. Food will be here shortly." I'm sure she is dehydrated and undernourished. I continue to push water every couple of minutes, refilling the cup periodically. If she can't keep liquids and food in, I will have to suggest a trip to the local clinic. I already know how well that suggestion would be taken.

We sit together in quiet silence for another moment until I hear a knock. A minute later, I'm offering her a breadstick. Adding to my growing list of concerns, Steph eats silently and shows no overt satisfaction towards her food. I quickly eat a couple slices of pizza. Steph makes no comment about my dinner selection as she usually would. I find myself missing her sarcastic quips. While I don't outwardly show it, she cracks me up inside. Sometimes I pick the healthiest choice around her just to see her reaction. In the end, Steph eats only a small amount before promising to try again later. I plan on holding her to it.

Steph looks at me, embarrassed, saying, "Would you please help me to the restroom? I'm not sure I want to try it alone again."

"Babe, anything for you. Don't hesitate to ask," I attempt to reassure her. I want to carry her, but I can sense it would damage whatever she has left of her pride. Instead, I put my arm around her waist, and we make progress with her leading the way. "Would you like me to stay?" I inquire.

She looks down, "No, thank you. I won't be long."

"Take all the time you need. I'm in no hurry. I'm here for you, Babe," and I again hope she catches the double meaning I wish to impart.

Once finished, we settle on her bed again. I continue to encourage her to hydrate, and we otherwise sit in companionable silence as the light filtering through the blinds fades from pink to deep purple.

I turn my head towards hers as she quietly says, "You shouldn't be here on my account. You have a business to run, and I've cost you enough already. I'm sorry I've wasted your time."

My heart is breaking at the flatness of her voice. I was stupid for passing those careless comments. I should have never made her feel like an expense. "Babe, you have never been and will never be a waste of my time. I am here because you are my priority. I've done a lousy job of showing that to you lately. I'm sorry. There really is no price for what we do for each other."

A lone tear drifts down Steph's cheek. I wipe it lightly with my thumb. "But there is," she insists. "I've seen it."

I sigh, and it catches her attention. "I was wrong to have left it that way. I should have never lead you to believe you were entertainment. It's true you have an unorthodox methodology to skip tracing and capture, but no one can dispute your results. What you have achieved is remarkable throughout the bounty hunting community, and you have incredible instincts. On top of that, you have risked your life on more than one occasion for me, my daughter, my men, and my company. Your loyalty and self-sacrifice should only be treated with the highest regard. While I did need to account for certain expenses, there is no excuse for it being tallied in the 'entertainment' line. I will say it again, I'm sorry."

Stephanie seems to consider everything I've said. Looking at her hands, she begins, "Ranger, I don't think I have anything to forgive, but since you've asked, of course, you are. I didn't come here so you could go on a wild goose chase. I have many reasons for taking this trip and for doing it alone."

I grow still, and I desperately hope she isn't sending me away again, not that she can make me go.

"This isn't going to be a booty call or sneaky kisses with Stephanie kind of weekend. I know you are in this as a friend with benefits, no-attachments basis. I can't give that to you right now, and I'm not ready to talk about it. What I can do is ask you again. Why are you here? What do you want from me?" Steph finishes quietly, her voice breaking at the end.

I'm struck by how dejected Stephanie sounds. I deeply regret my previous actions and words and the role I have had in this situation. At this point, I'm relieved she doesn't seem to want to turn me away. I will do whatever it takes to convince her that the only place I want to be is by her side.

I turn and fully engulf her body in a hug, held long and tenderly, slowly rubbing her back. I speak quietly, pouring as much of my heart as I can into my words. "You are my best friend. As much as I tried to put forward a front to protect both of us, I've known for a while I've fallen for you. Since the first day in the diner, I haven't been with anyone else. Our few nights are some of my most cherished memories, and it's gotten me through my own rough times. I've given you a lot of excuses, and I've pushed you away. I'm here now, and I intend to be part of your life for the rest of mine. I would like to right my wrongs."

Stephanie pulls back from my arms just enough to look in my eyes, her own blue ones wide and rimmed with tears.

I continue, "I love you, _Querida_. I promise to be there for you now and forever," I'm holding my breath, searching her face for a reply. Tears are silently dripping off her lashes.

"You love _me_? Why?" The last word is a whisper. I hug her tightly to me again, and I ache as the self-depreciation of her question.

"Babe, you are my light. You've brought joy to the darkest corners of my being. You have a zest for life, show genuine kindness to everyone, and retain the ability to be compassionate where most people would turn away. You are intelligent, funny, and loyal. You are easily the best person I know. I can't imagine my life without you in it, and I've been a fool for keeping you on the edges for as long as I have."

I'm not sure I've convinced her, but she isn't pulling away. In fact, she has sagged against me completely, and I'm supporting her full weight. Her body is racked in sobs. Through the tears, I hear her mumbling to herself, "I'm not good enough. This can't be true. But, but…" her words fade as her sobs increase. I hold her, and we rock back and forth slightly. I rub her back. I need her to calm down, so she doesn't make herself sick. I'm also using the motion to keep myself calm. How can my Babe be convinced she is anything less than incredible? I may have had a part to play in her exodus, but my gut tells me there is more to this situation.

Her breathing slows, and as her eyes close, Steph whispers in my ear, "I love you, too. Please don't leave me."

With her confession, my heart soars.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Thank you for all of the _incredible_ comments and support for this story. Thanks are owed again to misty23y for her continued work as my beta. This is my longest chapter to date - Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 15SEP18 1900-2230

 **Stephanie POV**

I'm lying in Ranger's arms. He said he loves me. My eyes are closed, and the warmth of his presence is working to break down some of the barriers I've built to protect my heart. Do I believe him? I have every reason not to believe him. Part of this journey, however, is to start being honest with myself. I desperately want to believe him.

I whisper, "I love you, too. Please don't leave me."

I feel Ranger relax against me, and he kisses the top of my head. I'm still crying, but it's a mixture of relief, sadness, pent-up emotion, and even a little joy.

Ranger says in a husky voice, "Babe, I'm grateful you love me in return. Thank you for trusting me."

I'm overwhelmed. I've never heard Ranger say so much as this evening. He may be a man of few words, but those were well-chosen words. "Thank you for opening up to me," I say. My sobs are lessening, and I'm drawing strength from his presence. I'm tightly gripping his shirt. I think I'm a little afraid if I let him go, I'll find out this was all a dream.

"I will work to be that way with you more," he says.

I shift in the bed, maintaining physical contact. I'm starving. I reach for some food and water, and Ranger is quick to help me. I'm embarrassed by my display of physical weakness earlier. "I'm sorry for nearly passing out on you," I say between bites. "I didn't mean for you to have to take care of me."

Ranger looks at me intently, "You never have to apologize for me helping you. You have always gone above and beyond for me. It is what friends do for each other; it's what I do for the people I love. I love you, Stephanie Plum."

I don't know what to say, so I look away and take another swig of water. I finish eating and excuse myself to the bathroom to clean up. I wash my hands, rinse my face and restore minimal order to my ponytail. I still look pale and puffy, but it's the best I can do. Finishing up, I walk out to the balcony and lean against the rail, looking out at the ocean glimmering in the moonlight. Ranger moves beside me, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me next to him.

"Will you tell me why you are here?" he asks. "Please, Babe."

There it is. The magic word I can never refuse. I wrap my arms around myself in a hug, but mostly in a physical attempt to hold myself together. I need to be strong. I turn to sit in the chair but continue to face the ocean. Looking into his eyes while baring my soul is too hard.

"First, I need to know you won't react and take some type of immediate action, no matter what I tell you. I'm not revealing my life to you so you can fix it. I need a friend and a confidant. Can you do that for me?" I say this sharply, wanting to convey how important this is to me. I can't work through my feelings and worry about his actions.

I glance over and see him frown from the corner of my eye. He hesitates before replying, "I am here for you. I won't do anything without talking to you first. I want to listen and hear what you have to say." Okay, I think. I can do this.

I stare out again, gathering my inner strength and courage.

"I'm here because I've never been able to face the truth about my life and the consequences the actions of others and myself have had on it. I've denied, twisted the truth, and chosen to believe others over myself. Despite my best efforts, the truth has been a wrecking ball inside me the past few months, and I need to let it finish its work of breaking me down. Ultimately, I didn't come as a pity party, but to figure out how to rebuild," I start. I'm determined not to cry, and I keep my voice low and flat. To his credit, Ranger sits silently.

"When I was six years old, Joe invited me into his father's garage to play a game he called choo-choo. He considered himself the train, and me, the tunnel. I naïvely believed him. He molested me that day. I didn't understand the experience, and when I confided in my mother, she told me I was a bad girl who deserved it for not listening to her warnings. I believed her. You are the first person I have told since that day." My breath catches, and I take a moment to calm myself. My heart is beating rapidly.

"Do you know about the infamous Tasty Pastry incident?" I pause and glance at Ranger to see him shake his head no. I thought I told him the story, but I guess he doesn't remember it. I continue, "When I was sixteen and working at Tasty Pastry, Joe came in one night. I was there by myself, closing up the bakery. He came behind the counter, and we had sex. The next day, he left for the Navy. Everyone believed I was another Burg girl smitten with the Italian Stallion. The messages he left around town, which I recently discovered still exist, only serve to promote this image. Since seeing one of his messages first hand a few weeks ago, I've started to have intense and unrelenting flashbacks."

I collect myself, digging deep to say the next words out loud. I've fixed my eyes on a fleck of paint on the railing. My elbows are on my knees, and my hands are under my chin, white-knuckled fingers laced together. I continue with a low voice.

"The truth is, he raped me. I've never said it aloud, and I think this is the first time I'm even fully admitting it to myself. I told him, no, and he persisted. He took advantage of my crush and took it farther than I wanted. His actions cost me my job, my reputation and anything I had left of my mother's acceptance." I can't do anything to stop the lone tear that falls down my face. My rigid body is shaking at the intensity of relating these stories.

I pause, attempting to straddle the line between memories and the present. My voice begins to shake as I remember the aftermath of that night. "My mother threatened me not to become pregnant. Turns out, a week later, I missed my period. I stole a pregnancy test and took it in the convenience store's bathroom. It was positive." I'm becoming lost to the memory, and I fight to push back the fear I experienced that day. "I desperately didn't want the baby; I didn't have anyone to confide in and nowhere to turn. I hated the life growing inside me. I read increased exercise and caffeine can cause a miscarriage. So, I ran and drank caffeinated drinks constantly, every day. I prayed for God to take the baby away from me. I began bleeding two weeks later."

I can feel the tension mounting in my body, and I'm hugging my middle in a physical attempt to keep myself together to finish my confession. "I felt so grateful not to have had motherhood thrust upon me. And then I felt intensely guilty like I was a monster who isn't fit to have kids, like there is something wrong with me. I feel, even now, that I'm someone who isn't worthy enough to be a mom because I had a chance and wished the baby dead. Every year I still imagine that baby and the life he or she could have had. You are the only one I've ever told this to," I finish in a whisper.

I don't attempt to stop the tears from running down my face. I take an unsteady breath, pushing myself to continue. I need Ranger to hear the entire story before he decides if he loves me or not.

"Before you returned this last time, I captured a skip by the name Michael Bruno. He was an easy find for me; he's a long-time friend of Joe's. We had a chance to sit and catch up for a bit before I took him in, the details aren't important. What is important is he admitted that after Joe raped," my voice catches at the word, and I have to pause before continuing. I take a deep breath. "raped me, and before he left for the Navy, he gathered the boys to brag. One drink led to another, and they made a bet that he would marry me someday. There are various terms, but the pot has been sitting in a bank account this entire time. To the best of my knowledge, it is more than $1,200. I guess not too many people get to know what their marriage is worth to someone," I add with resignation.

"It took several attempts on my part to get Joe to talk about the bet over a few months. One of the reasons it took so long is his hedging, but part of the responsibility is my own. I didn't feel entirely ready to hear the truth while being plagued with nightmares of the past. I wanted to believe the choices I was currently making to be with him were okay. I wanted to believe he had changed, and the past was the past." I can't stop the tears now, but I won't stop until I finish my story.

"I finally confronted Joe two nights ago. He became upset, and I realized he was lying to me. He ripped off my shirt, and as I moved away, pushed me against a wall. I believe if I hadn't fought back he would have raped me again." I say this in a near whisper.

"On top of that, I can't help but feel responsible for Emily's death. I've found working difficult, and my confidence is gone." I look down between my feet, shoulders hunched forward, running my hands through my hair. I can't look at Ranger.

"I have been fighting feelings of desolation, despair, failure, embarrassment, shame, and vulnerability, among others. My days are difficult, and intense nightmares plague me so I haven't slept more than an hour or two at a time in months. I feel deeply broken."

I'm suddenly awash in emotion. It races through my body, and I can no longer be still. My breathing is rapid, my hands trembling as I stand, forcing me to turn and race from the room. I sprint through the hall, down the stairs, and to the ocean. In my bare feet, I run, tears blurring my vision. I don't look back. I run through the sand to the edge of the surf, causing my lungs and legs to burn. I collapse to my knees, put my head in my hands and scream.

Ranger is next to me on the sand, wrapping his arms around me, allowing me to scream into chest while I cry. I let the tears fall, allowing the emotions to course through my body, all the feelings denied and tucked away for nearly thirty years, and I allow Ranger to be my strength.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: You guys are _amazing_. I'm in awe at your response to this story. Yesterday was monumental. A record number of readers viewed the last chapter, and there are now more than 200 reviews! In celebration, here is Ranger's POV to Steph's story to hold you over this weekend. Thank you for all of your support and encouragement!

Thanks are owed again to misty23y for her continued work as my beta. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 15SEP18 2130-2230

 **Ranger POV**

I'm sitting with my Babe on the porch, waiting for her to begin. I'm honored and relieved she is going to talk to me. I am bracing myself to listen to whatever she needs to tell me. I hesitate when she asks me not to do anything. As I don't know what Steph is going to tell me, there is a chance the information she gives me will require action. I push back and tell her she would be a part of any course of action. I'm relieved she accepts my modified terms. I know my reaction is going to be critical. I must internalize and process the information, using my military training to fall on reason, not emotion; to think before I act. The last thing I want is to scare her carelessly.

I imperceptibly glance over at her. Her posture is rigid, and I can tell she is trying to channel her blank face. When she begins, her voice is steady and firm. While I'm concerned at how depressed Steph sounds, I'm impressed at her goal setting and focus. It's obvious she's given her words a great deal of thought. I resolve to be a part of her solution.

She pauses, and when she continues, her voice is flat. As she tells me about being molested at six, I am equally shocked by both Morelli's actions and how her family victimized her. I am outraged that a parent wouldn't do everything they could to love and protect their child.

I notice Steph's voice has become bitter and stringent when she asks me about the Tasty Pastry incident. I know it's where she lost her virginity to Morelli and what lead to her breaking his leg with Big Blue, but I'm afraid if I say yes, she will self-edit information that could be critical to my understanding. Not wanting to interject my words into her story, I shake my head no.

Nothing could have prepared me for the pain of her next confession. Morelli _raped_ her. The fucking bastard. I feel sick at the role I played in enabling their relationship. I'm focusing on controlling my breathing, forcing my anger deep inside. I see my Babe tremble as her relaying her story begins to take its toll. I desperately want to wrap my arms around her, but I can see she is resolved to do this on her own.

 _Dios._ My Babe was pregnant and lost the baby. My stomach is churning at the sight of Steph's pain and grief as she clutches herself, and the armrests of the chair are threatening to break in my clenched hands. I consciously relax them, knowing I can't risk scaring Stephanie. I can't believe she went through that alone, and especially as a traumatized teen herself. I'm not sure she ever mourned the loss of that baby, and it's clear she is blaming herself even now for the miscarriage. I always wondered why she seemed closed off to the idea of kids. Steph's bitch of a mother is the one who is unfit to care for another person, not my Babe! I use Steph's silence to steady my own emotions, wondering how much more she has to tell me.

I knew about the bets and polls placed at the Precinct and how those hurt Steph. I can't imagine how shattered she must have felt to learn her relationship with Morelli is the original bet. With her permission, this I can quickly fix; I will use my considerable influence in the community to do something I should have done a long time ago. I will shut that down. Steph will never be a wager again.

Then comes the revelation that rocks me to my core. The abuse never stopped, and I see all of Morelli's ramblings and tirades in a new light. His threat to her isn't in the past; it exists _now_. I've always thought I could be there to protect her. I never realized how close the danger was. In time, I will deal with Morelli. He will never harm her again.

As Steph tells me of the trauma she has endured, which doesn't even include the dangers she has faced as a bounty hunter, coupled with flashbacks, nightmares, and sleeplessness, I am amazed she is functioning at all. I've known soldiers who have cracked under less strain than she has experienced recently. My Babe has no idea how strong she is.

I knew her last car explosion shook her along with her skip's death. I think I assumed she would bounce back as always. I have failed her as her mentor and friend. I shouldn't have let the pressures of returning to work along with the distance she was maintaining keep me from actively following up on her. At a minimum, I should have known she was struggling with work. I could have easily given her back up and resources. I wonder how she is doing without as much money from FTAs coming in.

I continue to look at her through the corner of my vision. She is openly crying, but hiding her face from me. Her body is trembling with the tension, and I'm becoming increasingly concerned about her overall well-being. I don't know how much more she has to tell me, but for her sake, I hope it isn't much more.

When she does speak again, my heart breaks at the brokenness of her words, and my throat tightens. My Babe has been living in the depths of emotional hell. I am stunned at the dark depiction she has of herself. I think she believes her light has been snuffed out.

I'm staring openly at her now, but she is too lost in her thoughts to notice. I'm about to move closer to her when she suddenly bolts. I've never seen her run so fast. It's as though she is attempting to outpace the demons she feels surround her. I match her stride but stay close behind, giving her the space she needs to move. I don't think she has any awareness of her surroundings or time as she sprints more than two miles.

I see her collapse, and I surge forth to kneel beside her, enveloping her in my arms. Her scream, _Dios_ , please let me never hear this anguish from my Babe again. I say a silent prayer that my presence and strength will be enough to help her through this night and all the others to follow. I pray I have the wisdom and resources to give her what she needs to heal and be happy with her life again.

Holding my broken Babe, her small frame heaving with every sob and scream, my love for her deepens, and I know I am holding my own life and heart in my arms. There is nothing I won't do to show her that I love her, to help her, and to support her. I embrace her firmly, wanting to convey strength and assurance. I rub my hand in gentle circles on her back, breathing in deep meditative breaths. I'm hoping the rhythm will help her calm her own rapid and uneven breathing, bring her back to me.

Kneeling on the cold, hard-packed sand left by the receding tide, I speak softly to her, _"Gracias por compartir tu historia conmigo._ _Yo estaré aquí para ti. Querida, te quiero. Tú eres mi luz. Eres belleza y fuerza, compasivo e inteligente, valiente y leal. Estoy sorprendido de que hayas llevado esta carga tan bien durante tanto tiempo. Haré todo lo que pueda para aligerar tu carga. Eres mi todo."_

She begins to calm, and I decide to tell her the words in English. Steph needs to know I am wholly devoted to her, that nothing she has revealed to me has in any way lowered my esteem in her. "Babe," I start in a soothing tone. She lifts her eyes to me, and I pause, taking in the intense emotions contained therein. "Thank you for sharing your story with me. I will be here for you. My dear, I love you. You are my light. You are beauty and strength, compassionate and intelligent, courageous and loyal. I am astonished you have carried this burden alone so well for so long. I will do anything I can to make your load lighter. You are my everything."

She looks confused and sorrowful before she lowers her chin. "How can you say that?" she says quietly into my chest. "How are you not walking away completely convinced I am a dirty, shamed, failure of a woman? Everyone told me my whole life that all of this is my fault, and I think I've come to believe it. I cause bad things to happen to me and others. I'm not a good person."

My hardened soul shatters. A single tear escapes from the corner of my eye. I pick my Babe up, cradling her in my arms. "Stephanie," I passionately say. "You are the best person I know. I am in love with the amazing person you are. You sharing what has happened to you could never take away from my love. None of this is your fault. Lean on me. Let me be your strength. You don't have to do this alone anymore. I will never leave you." I kiss the top of her head, holding it a long moment.

I feel the inner battle Steph wages as she considers my words. I let out my breath as I feel her relax in my arms. She lifts her head to meet my gaze and says, "I'm not sure I believe what you say about me is true, but I will try. Thank you for listening to and being there for me. I love you." My heart swells and a second tear escapes as she leans up and quickly kisses me on the lips.

I turn, and we begin our journey back together.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Who else thinks we need a Monday update instead of Tuesday? I do! I'm compelled to say it again – thank you, thank you for the enthusiastic and supportive reviews. I'm honored this story has a place in your lives.

Thanks are owed again to misty23y for her continued work as my beta. She absolutely makes this story better. Chapter 1 of her new work _Metamorphosis_ has just been posted. Check it out!

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 15SEP18 2330 - Sunday, 16SEP18 0100

 **Ranger POV**

I carry my Babe back to the hotel. She is exhausted, and her eyes closed, but I don't think she is sleeping. The moon lights the return path, and the crashing waves are all we can hear. In the peaceful silence, we both process all of Stephanie's revelations.

I feel both lighter and heavier. I am overjoyed Steph accepts and returns my love. It's more than I had hoped because she is my future, and I am so glad we are now traveling this life together. At the same time, I am angrier than I have ever been. It is un-fucking-believable she has endured a lifetime of abuse and victimization by Morelli, her parents, and the Burg. I am humbled she shared her story with me. Following her here was the best decision of my life. While things are dark for my Babe now, I feel uplifted by her optimism and desire to change her life for the better. I will do whatever I can in pursuit of that goal.

With that resolution burning inside me, I also know the obstacles my Babe is facing require more than I alone can give her. She needs to see a therapist. Steph seems to want change, and I'm hoping she will reach that same conclusion in the light of tomorrow. If not, I will press the issue. By Monday, she needs to see a mental health professional.

Steph has begun to shiver. I believe it is a combination of the chilly night air and adrenaline let down from the intense emotional rollercoaster she has been riding. We are both covered in sand that we need to rinse off before bed. I pick up the pace and shortly ease us into the room. I set her down on the closed toilet lid and turn on the shower. I kneel before her to be at eye level.

"Babe, would you like company in your shower?" I ask, not wanting to be too forward in her fragile state.

Steph looks relieved to be asked, quietly replying without meeting my gaze, "Alone, please. And Ranger, thank you."

"No price, Babe. I will be nearby should you need anything," I reply, stepping outside, closing the door to a crack. I need to work on getting her to look at me.

I walk the small distance to the porch, leaving the sliding door open. I sigh, releasing some of my own pent-up emotions. I desperately want a physical release for the anger I feel, but my concern for Steph outweighs any of my needs. I begin to brush off the sand, remaining vigilant.

 **Stephanie POV**

I am overwhelmed and touched by Ranger's response to me. I never imagined he would be so accepting, patient, and loving. I thought that once I began to tell him my history, he would undoubtedly see me the way everyone else does, and he would be gone. That I can rest with him is providing me with immense peace and comfort after the intensity of the evening.

I am very relieved someone else knows the truth. I hadn't realized how much the weight of the untold truth was pushing me down. I don't entirely believe Ranger's assessment of me, nor do I fully understand why he is still here. I do know I want to believe him. I want to escape this darkness.

I can feel the physical and emotional exhaustion in my bones. If I were a bucket, I would be laying on my side empty. I also feel dirty. I am desperate for a shower before bed, and once again, Ranger's ESP saves the day.

As much as I trust Ranger, I need a moment to gather myself. Even with our newfound declarations of love, I'm feeling nervous about being naked around him. I'd prefer to save that intimacy for when I am in a better place mentally. I hope he doesn't think I am rejecting him.

Gratefully alone, I undress and step into the shower and turn it hotter. The shower has become my sanctuary. It is the place where I wash away the sins of the past. I can scrub away the memory of each touch and violation. It's where I try to gain control and seek peace.

I lather the washcloth and hold it in my hands. My skin is pulsing in the places Joe has touched me without my consent. My neck. Scrub. My breasts. Scrub. My stomach. Scrub. My arms. Scrub. My inner thighs. Scrub. It's become such a frequent habit, the flesh is red, raw and cracked in places. The soap burns and stings. I wait for the relief. I scrub harder, frustrated. Relief doesn't come.

Instead, I think of Ranger, and his words tonight. _Beauty. Strength. Courageous._ Am I courageous? Am I strong enough to overcome this? _Good._ Could there be a good person inside of me?

I'm standing still, trapped by uncertainty. I look at the washcloth in my hands, and I look at the broken skin. I need to stop. But then how do I stop feeling dirty?

I begin to tremble again, and I force myself not to cry. I can do this. It's just a shower. No, that's denial-land Stephanie talking. Beginning the journey of accepting myself is essential. I can't take the first step on my own.

"Ranger," I say before I even finish forming the thought. "Ranger," I say it louder and with desperate urgency.

The door is pushed open, and I can see his shadow through the curtain. "Babe?"

I am relieved he is continuing to respect my physical boundaries, but I suddenly need him more than I've ever needed anyone. "Please, I can't do this on my own."

The words sound pathetic to my ears. Ranger peeks around the curtain, but I don't look at him. A moment later, he has shed his clothing and is facing me in the shower. I can feel his eyes studying my body, but I keep my look fixed on my feet. I'm too embarrassed.

Then, he places his hands in mine and slowly removes the washcloth. Setting it aside, he puts his hands on my shoulders and lowers them slowly before pulling me into an embrace. I begin to feel relief.

I think he is waiting for me to explain myself, so I begin hesitantly rambling, tripping over my words. "When I started having flashbacks and nightmares, I, I would feel disgusting, often covered in sweat. They, they are so vivid; it often feels as though the event has just happened all over again. I needed to wash away how dirty I feel, so I would, would scrub the memory away." I pause to breathe, surprised it seems I still have a few tears left in me. I'm about to start justifying myself again when Ranger speaks.

"Babe, you have no reason to be ashamed. You have dealt with something incredibly difficult the best way you know how. Thank you for asking me to be here." His words spark hope inside me.

Ranger steps back slightly, "Look at me," he gently commands. I take a big breath and hesitantly lift my chin. I feel entirely vulnerable. I'm taken aback to see his face filled with warmth, compassion, and love. "I want to tell you what I see. I see a beautiful woman. I see bravery. You never have to hide what you feel from me. I will never judge you. I'm proud of you, Babe."

This time, I initiate the hug. I very rarely do so, and I can feel Ranger's surprise before he returns the embrace. "I love you," I say with my head resting on his heart.

 _"Querida, te quiero,"_ he responds, kissing my hair.

We finish the shower, and I dress for bed, pulling a procured shirt of Ranger's from my bag. I see him smile slightly. Laying down in the bed, I find his eyes. "Stay with me?" I question, hope on my face.

Ranger rewards me with a 200-watt smile. He turns off the light and settles beside me. I mold my body into his, breathing in his scent. Warmth spreads through my weary body. I feel loved and safe. I fall asleep more easily than I have in months.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Thank you for your enthusiastic response to the last few chapters. I've noticed several comments concerned about whether or not Steph will end up seeking professional care. I've deliberately written this chapter as a way for you to be reassured when looking into the proverbial crystal ball. Please feel free to PM with specific concerns, and I will respond.

I think it would also be helpful to have a timeline update. Since the beginning of the story, we will end this chapter only 48 hours in, and we are between Saturday night and Sunday morning. The pace of this story will pick up eventually, but for now, I'm working through the moments and not the days.

I have the utmost respect for the mental health care community and the ups and downs of people who've gone through a traumatic experience. Healing isn't a linear upward path, but it is, ultimately, upward. Please remember, I promised from the beginning a Strong Steph/Babe HEA.

A big thank you misty23y for her work as my beta. She challenges me and makes this a better read. The complete Chapter 1 of her new work _Metamorphosis_ is posted. Check it out!

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

Date/Time Stamp: Sunday, 16SEP18 0100-0530

 **Ranger POV**

I held my Babe in my arms waiting for the relaxation of sleep to take over her body. I have no intention of falling asleep before her, not that I could. I have too much to think about because today has been a day of many life-changing revelations. _Dios!_ My anger towards that fucker Morelli is simmering just below the surface, and it's my love for Steph that is keeping it there. I'm going to need to run, swim, go to the gym, do target practice, anything physical soon to give me a better handle at reigning in my beast. Regular PT (physical training) is how I maintain my ability to remain calm.

I was unprepared for what I saw when Steph called me into the bathroom. Her voice had raw desperation, which like many things of today I hope never to hear again. It took me a moment to figure out why she called me. My mind is too wired to look for external dangers. It took a beat to register the threat she is to herself. Based on the number of healing areas versus raw patches, she has been releasing her stress by scrubbing her skin excessively for some time. It speaks to her determination to make things better which allowed her to seek my help.

As a combat veteran in the Army and my government contract work, I have seen men and a few women struggle after they survived the violence of war. I don't know of any soldiers from combat units who don't know someone who never really came home, falling to suicide or some other ghost, such as alcoholism or drug abuse, that eventually killed them. There are several units where suicide has claimed more people than battle after they returned to the States.

In response to high suicide rates in recent years, all service members in all branches undergo annual suicide prevention training. I've also undergone specialized training for PTSD. It is a protocol for each unit to have a Sexual Assault Prevention Response Advocate or SAPR advocate. Bobby completed the training for our unit and briefs us annually on broad facets of the Department of Defense's sexual assault prevention program.

I'm frowning, trying to remember the briefings. Based on Steph's recounting of flashbacks, enduring recent trauma, depression, and self-harm, I believe she may be somewhere on the PTSD spectrum. I know it is imperative I convince her to see a specialist. What I do remember clearly from my annual training is if we suspect someone has PTSD to treat it as a life-threatening disease and to use whatever resources we have available to encourage that person into proper care.

What is for certain is I won't be letting Steph out of my care anytime soon. I can't risk losing my Babe. I'm again saying a prayer of thanks I decided to follow and subsequently catch up with her.

 **Stephanie POV**

Despite being utterly exhausted mentally and physically, only the comfort and security of Ranger's presence only allows me to fall asleep with ease. In the wee hours, my demons return.

I'm standing in front of my childhood home. My parents, along with Val, Dickie Orr, Joe Morelli, his mother Angie, his Grandmother Bella, several members of the Trenton PD, several women of the Burg, Michael Bruno, Joe's cousin Mooch, Terry Gillman, Joyce Barnhardt, and others who I recognize from school form a circle around me. The crowd is deep, and the more I look, the more people I recognize. I stop scanning, staring at my feet. Maybe if I force myself to be invisible, they will go away.

"How did you raise such an egregious girl, Ellen? I'm amazed you can love a disappointment such as her!" comes a random voice.

"We have to work hard at it, but it's God's work, as they say," Ellen replies.

"I tried to love her, but I realized early on she was never going to be enough," chimes in the Dick.

"I thought I could be the one to tame her, but even my best efforts seem to be unappreciated," commiserates Joe.

"It seems all the men in her life need me to satisfy them after she's left them wanting more between the sheets," gloats Joyce.

"She's such an embarrassment, always jumping off roofs, running over nice boys with cars, rolling in the trash and blowing things up!" whines Valerie.

"I think some people might be hopeless. She certainly isn't good enough for my Joseph," declares Angie.

"Unlovable."

"Worthless."

"Inept."

The crowd crushes me.

I wake up sweating, my heart pounding in my ears. I remember Ranger is sleeping next to me, and I remain still, not wanting to alarm him. I very slowly slide off the bed and move to the bathroom. In the darkness, I sit on the closed toilet seat, placing my hands over my face. A thin sheen of sweat covers my body, and each drop of salty liquid feels like a reminder of the condemnation.

I still can't believe Ranger said he loves me. What does he see that everyone else fails to see? And what would he think if he saw me now? A basket case… again. _Pull yourself together, Steph, before you blow it again._

I grab a towel, and I try to rub all the sweat off of me, ridding myself of its oppressive weight. I force myself not to cry. I've done more than enough crying! I squeeze my eyes tightly; I'm fiercely toweling the sweat off, barely breathing when a hand rests on top of mine.

My eyes fly open, and I let out an involuntary shriek, jumping backward. It takes me a moment to register Ranger's presence in front of me. _Fuck. I woke him up._

"I'm sorry. I tried to be quiet. I didn't mean to wake you. I, I," I pause, not finding the right words. _Great, now I can add bumbling to the list._ "Ugh!" I ineloquently finish, giving up, standing there pathetically.

Ranger surprises me again and steps forward to envelop me in a hug, pulling the towel out of my hand. He doesn't say anything, just breaths deeply and evenly. I find myself matching his rhythm and relaxing in spite of myself. I lift my arms to hug him in return.

"Why?" I whisper. "Why are you still here? Haven't you figured out I'm not worth it yet?"

Ranger steps back and crouches slightly to look me in the eyes. "Babe, you've done nothing wrong. I love you. I would stay up all night to be with you. Besides," he checks his watch. "It's 0500. I would be awake anyway."

He pulls me back into a warm embrace, "Would you like to tell me why you are awake? Nightmare?" he softly questions.

I sigh. "Yes," I say with deep resignation. "I was in here trying to get rid of it."

"Babe, please wake me if I'm not awake. You don't have to face it alone. No price, remember?"

"I don't deserve you," I say, confessing my deepest fear. My voice warbles against my will at the end.

"Stephanie," I hear Ranger say firmly. _Crap. Here it comes. The moment of truth._ My body tenses as I brace myself for what I know will be him realizing dealing with all my baggage is not what he wanted after all. He suddenly picks me up, carries me to the bed and sits down, pulling me across his lap.

Ranger kisses me on the top of my head and starts again, "Babe, _te quiero._ I'm sorry for holding you at arm's length and for giving you a thousand excuses for not being able to commit to a relationship. I'm so sorry for sending you back to Morelli. You are everything to me. You are light, love, compassion, zeal, enthusiasm, individuality, humor, kindness, and so much more. You compliment and challenge me in all the best ways. I will never regret being here with you. I only regret it took me so long to get here. You never need to apologize for waking me, for confiding in me, for asking me for anything. After everything I've done in my life, I'm the one who doesn't deserve you. I'm grateful to hold you in my arms, beginning a new journey with you together."

I'm stunned. It's possibly the most I've ever heard Ranger say at once, and given that he's said more to me in the past 24 hours than whole years combined, that's saying something. I look into his eyes, and I'm even more shocked to see they are glistening with tears. "You truly mean it, don't you?" I say.

He continues to look down intently at me.

I'm suddenly overcome and determined not to let the ghosts of yesterday destroy the hope of tomorrow. I twist so I'm face to face with Ranger and kiss him with my entire being. I'm fast, fervent and I pour every bit of fire I have for that man into the moment. My lips part, the tip of my tongue sweeping past his. My arms are around his back, my fingers gripping his skin, willing us to be impossibly closer. I pull myself up on my knees, straddling his waist. My hands are around his neck, and I release the kiss, panting for air, my chest pressed into his chest, my head on his shoulder. His arms hold me in a firmness that gives strength to my soul. I'm finally home, finally whole, and finally safe.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Happy Friday! Who wants a good cliffhanger for the weekend? I do! Never taken for granted, thank you for your reviews and comments.

Timeline Update: I've updated all chapters with a date/time stamp to indicate where we are in the storyline.

Continued thanks to misty23y for her work as my beta. She does an awesome job keeping this story on track!

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

Date/Time Stamp: Sunday, 16SEP18 0600-1000

 **Stephanie POV**

Sitting with Ranger gives me a completeness I have never experienced. I'm breathing rapidly in response to the kiss, and my heart is pounding. I can feel his arousal underneath me. I'm flattered he has responded to me, and I'm relieved he is content not to pursue it. Despite the kiss and heavy petting, I'm not ready to have sex yet. I want to be, but I feel shy and unsure about doing the naked tango, despite the moment of passion. That he is respecting my unspoken boundary makes me love him even more.

We rest together, bodies entwined when my stomach decides to add a soundtrack to the moment. _OMG!_

I feel Ranger chuckle underneath me, "Babe, we need to feed the beast!"

I'm surprised to be hungry. It's been a while since my body gave an audible opinion, despite my diminished appetite. Ranger is good for me in more ways than I thought.

We get dressed, Ranger retreating to his motel room. I manage a ponytail, single mascara swipe and button-up black and white checked shirt with jeans. I automatically begin going through my mental gear checklist while sorting through my handbag when I realize he still has my SW. For the most part, I've kept it in my cookie jar at home, but it's been my constant companion wherever I've gone for weeks. I haven't trusted myself with the craziness in my life lately, and I am afraid of missing a potential danger. I think I've gotten little used to the security a handgun brings. _But you did pull it on Ranger. He isn't going to give it back. No sane person pulls a gun on Ranger._

I look up and see Ranger, dressed in a tight black t-shirt, jeans that accented his butt to perfection and boots. He is leaning against the door frame dividing our rooms, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Looking for something?"

To confess or to keep my mouth shut. The smirk forming in the corners of Ranger's mouth overrode my sense of self-preservation. "My gun, if you must know. Give it back." I stuck out my hand.

"Babe, I never thought I would see the day you wanted your gun," he said, not moving.

"Well," I huff. I stomp forward, attempting to barge past Ranger into his room to find it for myself. I'm beginning to feel like I'm on a mission from God.

Ranger easily stops me, putting his arm on the door frame, effectively blocking the doorway by simply opening his posture slightly. It was never a battle I was going to win. "How about you stick with the stun gun and pepper spray, and I'll bring the two guns and a knife?" he says into my neck, his words tickling my neck. I felt the argument go out of me as blood left my head and a tingle raced through my spine. _Yes, I can be safe with Ranger. He always has my back. I will trust him._

We turn to leave, and we walk in step to a diner down the block, his hand around my waist.

 **Ranger POV**

We enter the diner just as dawn's rays begin to chase away the night. We are seated in the corner booth, and I'm pleased Steph slides in before me so we can sit together; her hands entwined with mine, her head on my shoulder as we look at the menu. I am content to sit beside her.

The waitress is pushing 60, attempting to look 30, and smiles broadly in her white loafers, tan uniform dress and a stained apron. "What'll it be this morning?" Doris questions directly, no chit-chat.

"Coffee and cinnamon roll French toast with a side of bacon please" Steph orders.

"Coffee, veggie egg white omelet with ham, whole wheat toast, dry," I add.

"Thank you," Steph adds, smiling warmly back at Doris before she ambles towards the kitchen.

In the silence, I consider the morning. I felt when Steph rolled out of bed this morning, but when she padded to the bathroom, I thought she might need the toilet, and an instantaneous response on my part would be a little too stalker-like. I should have followed my instinct and checked on her sooner, and I'm not making that mistake again. She was about to make herself start bleeding again, and I don't think she realized it.

I was more than a little surprised she was looking for her revolver. Steph hates guns, and that she seems to have adopted a habit of carrying underlines how unsafe she must be feeling. I need to work on a plan to help her develop more self-defense skills so she can feel more confident again. However, based on her current mental state, there is no way I'm letting her have her gun back anytime soon.

 _Dios!_ That kiss! I work to control my growing hardness at the memory. I have never experienced a kiss that was so thoroughly and unexpectedly passionate. It was easily one of the sexiest and most heated moments of my life. I wanted nothing more than to finish what that kiss promised, but I am not going to take the lead. Multiple people that my Babe trusted and loved violated her repeatedly, and as a result, she barely trusts and loves herself. I will be patient and let her take the driver's seat.

Our food arrives, and I shift again as Steph audibly groans at her first bite. It's a great sound, and it cheers me to hear some of her old Stephanie returning. We are still holding hands, and I squeeze her fingers gently. She smiles slightly at me, her cheeks a little pinker. "Babe," I say while smiling at her in reply.

Steph eats less than half what she ordered, but it's more than she's eaten this entire trip combined. Thank goodness.

"Would you mind walking on the beach?" Steph asks as we exit. I nod slightly and steer us towards the beach access point. We pause at a bench to remove our shoes and roll the cuffs of our jeans. We stroll hand in hand to the point where wet sand meets dry, with the seagulls squawking their morning song overhead.

"I didn't come here just to fall apart," Steph starts. "Certainly I came here to cry, scream, get drunk and feel everything I knew was coming, and I didn't want to do it in the Burg under prying eyes. It wasn't the only reason I came, however."

She has my full attention.

"I want my life to be better. I can't go home to Joe, my mom, everyone while I continue to feel like an unlovable failure. I feel like I'm in the middle of a war between the Stephanie I want to be and the Stephanie I am expected to be. I know if I go back and continue to fight that war as is, I'll lose, and it will slowly kill _me._ "

I squeeze her hand tighter in encouragement. I want to pull her closer, but I sense she needs some space to finish her thought.

"I never counted on you, though. I never considered a world where you would want me, Ranger, and it changes my possibilities. Instead of me figuring a way out of this mess alone, would you like to figure it out with me?" Her voice quiets, but I sense the hope. I turn my head and see her eyebrows knit together.

I stop and pull her to me. " _Querida, te quiero._ I want nothing more than to help you. Thank you for asking me. Anything I have, anything I can do is available to you." I hear her take a deep breath and let it out.

"Ranger," Steph pauses, seemingly gathering courage. "I need to know before I count on you for this, what am I to you? I know you love me, and I love you, but I'm asking a lot. We've been friends for years, and I consider you my best friend. We've been lovers from time to time. We've never tried a relationship, and it's a big deal without all the excess crap in my life. So, what are we? Are we in this for the long haul?" She pulls back to look at me, and I admire her directness.

I'm overwhelmed again at her willingness to love and trust me despite everything. I pull her back into an embrace, speaking into her ear in Spanish, using it as a sounding board to organize my thoughts. _"Eres una mujer increible. Quiero pasar la eternidad contigo. Si quisieras, me casaría contigo hoy. Tú_ _eres mi vida, mi luz. Soy un hombre mejor porque me amas. Me siento honrado de que me elija, y pasaré mi vida tratando de ser digno de ti._ _Me gustaría pasar nuestros días envejeciendo juntos, tener hijos si quisiéramos, ir de aventuras y compartir planes, esperanzas y sueños._ _Gracias por permitirme ser parte de tus planes ahora. Querida, te quiero,"_ I say ardently.

When I finish, I kiss her head. I look at her and see love intermixed with curiosity. I feel torn between being completely open and censoring my words. I don't regret them, but I don't want to scare her either. Steph helps me decide as she leans into me, kisses my lips and says, "Tell me."

Face to face, holding hands, I look at her directly and say, "Babe, you are an amazing woman. I want to spend eternity with you. If you wanted, I would marry you today. You are my life, my light. I am a better man because you love me. I'm honored you would choose me, and I will spend my life trying to be worthy of you. I would happily spend our days growing old together, having children if we wanted, going on adventures, and sharing plans, hopes and dreams. Thank you for letting me be a part of your plans now. My dear, I love you."

Steph smiles, squeezing my hands tighter, and cocks her head to one side. "Is that a marriage proposal?" she asks.

"Do you want it to be?" I reply.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: _Drive_ has now been viewed more than 10,000 times by you, my incredible readers! Thank you again for your comments, enthusiasm, and support. Let's celebrate with an early update and the longest chapter yet!

I have updated all chapters with a date/time stamp to provide timeline continuity. We've been on this journey for more than a month together, but it's only been two days in Steph's world.

Continued thanks to misty23y for her work as my beta. She's also a great writer. Check out her work!

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

Date/Time Stamp: Sunday, September 16th 1000-1110

 **Stephanie POV**

Holy cow. I need to think before I speak sometimes. I can't believe I just challenged Ranger with a proposal. I can't believe he might have taken me seriously. Is that a marry me face or a calling my bluff face? I don't know if it is the stress of the past weeks, relief to have shared my burden with someone, or maybe my cheese has finally slid off its cracker, but I laugh.

I laugh harder than I have in ages. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes, and I double over. God, I hope I haven't offended Ranger. I peek up at him, and he breaks into a thousand-watt smile with a bark of laughter of his own.

"I'm sorry," I say between giggles. "No, I most certainly do not want to get married before we even go on our first date! I didn't mean to poke fun at you."

I take a deep breath and calm myself before embracing Ranger. He returns my embrace, and I feel lighter than I have in months. I pull my head up to give him a light kiss before taking his hand and resuming our walk towards the motel.

"Thank you," I say, turning my head to look at him directly. "No one has ever believed in me the way you do. I know I don't believe in me the way you do. I want to work on changing that." I notice that we are nearing the motel. I slow and steer us to a bench.

I sit with Ranger's arm around my shoulders, my toes buried in the sand, my head resting on his chest. "Does this mean someday for us has arrived?" I ask seriously.

"Yes," Ranger replies with the same soft seriousness.

I blush and smile reflexively, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. "I love you. I'm glad you are here, that you haven't left, and that you plan on staying. I'm trusting you more than I thought I could trust anyone right now." Ranger squeezes my shoulder gently.

I look at the ocean, my hand on his thigh, reflecting on the past several years. "You've always been fire and passion to me. No one has ever made me feel as alive as you do. I've been terrified of the idea of a relationship with you because I assumed I would ultimately be left broken and alone. I knew it wouldn't be hard for me to fall irrevocably in love with you, and while I tried not to, I know that I am in love with you. I think I've known since Scrog. While I have something of a phobia of marriage, babies and all it entails, at least according to the Burg, I thought you wanted it even less than me. I'm still not sure I want or need marriage, but I'm not as scared to take that step if it is with you."

I turn on the bench, tucking my legs underneath me, so I am looking directly at Ranger. His nearest hand rests on my thighs. I look into his warm, brown eyes, and I see his love for me in them.

I continue, "I'm grateful you told me how you feel. I want to begin a path of forever with you, too. For now, knowing we are committed to our someday together is enough as I work on myself." I am surprised to find tears in the corners of my eyes, but I know these are tears of joy, relief, and my love for him. I place my hands at the edges of Ranger's face, gently moving them along his hairline before kissing him again. This time it's a kiss filled with promise and hope of a happy future together. We pull apart gently, and I whisper, "I love you."

Ranger matches my gaze, "I am committed to forever with you. _Querida, te quiero_."

We move off the bench, put on our shoes and return hand in hand to the motel.

Once we enter my room and I kick off my sandals again, I turn to Ranger saying, "I'm glad you're here, but it's time for me to kick you out," while gesturing towards the door.

He looks at me with an eyebrow cocked. I wish I could do that. "Babe." What that man can do with one word.

"Look, I think we could both say the past couple of days have been a lot. I need to think and rest. I haven't seen you work out since you've been here. We both need some time to recoup and recover before tackling the future," I say with firmness.

I can see him considering the options. I walk over to my bag and pull out my cell phone, turning it on. Crap. Eighteen voice messages, more than twice that in missed calls and a bunch of texts. Nope. I'm not going to deal with this right now. I place it face down on the nightstand next to the bed.

"I know I haven't shown you my most emotionally stable side. My phone is on so I can contact you if needed, and I'm not going down the rabbit hole of those messages without you. You've confiscated my gun and my whiskey. I promise not to take a bath or a shower until you return. I'm going to lock myself in this room, lay on this bed and think, sleep if I can. That's it." I have my hands on my hips, my chin jutted up, daring him to challenge me.

The corners of Ranger's mouth lift slightly, and he strides towards me. "Babe, I don't need to work out. I'd rather be here with you." His voice is soft and seductive as he wraps his arms around my waist. My thoughts become hazy as I'm close enough to breathe in the intoxicating smell of Eau de Ranger. I feel myself melting into his warm, solid body.

"Nope, this is why. I love you, and you make me feel mushy. I need to think," I step back, breaking away from Ranger's embrace.

"Mushy?" Ranger says, amusement clear in his voice, but I can see he is giving my request serious consideration. "Okay. We can't have that. I will be back in under an hour. I expect you to keep your terms and conditions," he finishes firmly, looking purposefully into my eyes.

"I will," I say solemnly, knowing he is concerned about my well-being and humbled to know he cares. I lean up to kiss him, and he returns the kiss, making it slightly deeper before suddenly pulling away and retreating to his room.

Exhausted but resolved, I flop back onto the bed, spread eagle in my favorite thinking position. I take a deep breath, becoming aware of the silence of the room, and I sink deeper into the bed.

What a difference a day can make. Opening up to Ranger was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I'm so grateful I have. I know the last 24 hours mark a turning point in my life. For the first time, I have genuine hope.

I still feel betrayed by Joe and my mother. I need to break the cycle and work towards resolving the emotional ramifications of our history. I will no longer put myself in a position where they can continue to hurt me. I need to face all the issues I've spent a lifetime denying exist.

I've never wanted to be a stronger person so much in my life, emotionally, mentally, and physically. With Ranger beside me, I want to do it not only for myself but also to challenge myself to be the person he says he sees.

Having Ranger as a part of my life not only gives me courage, it gives me options if I chose to be brave. I have come out in a worse position after every relationship I ever had where I trusted and loved another person. It hasn't mattered if it was my heart, my money, or my livelihood. Perhaps this is where I begin being strong. I choose to love and trust Ranger with my future despite the painful memories of the past.

I lay there considering the life I have and the life I want. I consider what I am ready to give up to hopefully gain much more. I know along the way I might be losing some people who I thought were my friends, and I may potentially lose my relationship with my mother permanently. Ultimately, I expected some of these decisions to be hard, but in the clarity of a committed future with Ranger, I begin to see a new vision for my life.

I'm ready to do the work change requires. I drift asleep, content, for the first time in a long time.

 **Ranger POV**

Running is how I do my best thinking. It's where I fight back my demons, work through difficult problems and sort out my emotions. PT in general not only makes me stronger physically, but it also makes me stronger mentally. I learned early in my Army career that a physical training regimen keeps me focused, relieves excess aggression, and allows me to think uninhibited.

Feeling the Daytona sand pound rhythmically under my feet acts as a metronome conducting the orchestra of thoughts and feelings from the past few days, giving it sense, flow, and order. With each step my barely contained anger focuses into a resolution for justice, my worry turns into purpose, and my failures are set aside for an optimistic future.

Steph's laughter this morning did more than I could have anticipated to give me the certainty that a future with her is what I want. Her humor in all things, persistence, and resiliency have carried her farther than most. It shouldn't have to carry her forever. She has demons I never imagined, and I will be there for her.

I've never wanted to sacrifice my personal life for another person before. As a child, I struggled to know my purpose in my large family, turning to gangs to give me the feeling of belonging, acceptance. As an adult, I've always been focused on my professional goals, first in the Army, then as a government contractor, and finally with Rangeman. While I love Julie, it's only since Scrog I've come to understand I need to build a better bond with my daughter.

I told myself my life didn't lend itself to relationships, because that was the way it had to be. The truth is, my life hasn't lent itself to relationships, because I chose not to be reliant on anyone else.

While my government work has been noble and self-sacrificial, the government is an unyielding machine that will continue to take until I walk away or am dead. I've given enough in service to God and Country on the front lines. It's hard to accept not going into the field, not going on missions anymore, and not being the leader for those missions. It gives me a distinct sense of purpose along with an adrenaline high. I'm quickly becoming the oldest person on any assignment. I've stayed active as long as I have through my high physical endurance and exceptional instincts.

With my Babe, I feel as though I have a new purpose and mission in life. Even the well-founded hope of forever with her gives my life focus and meaning. Devoting my professional career to Rangeman provides safety and long-term security to the hundreds of men and women in my employ as well as the communities they serve.

It's easy to think of purpose as the direct life saved, such as in a rescue mission, or lives indirectly saved but still by my hand, such as the capture or elimination of an enemy combatant. The apparent cause and effect are its own reinforcing high. Rangeman can be that on a much bigger scale if I can set my individual goals aside for that of the greater good.

Feeling calm and resolved, I turn my path back to my future.

* * *

A/N: Your enthusiastic response to my cliffhanger blew me away, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint anyone. I agree with trhodes9 that Ranger and Steph need to pace themselves, but their commitment to one another is building their relationship will be critical to both of them. Let me know what you think!


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: I feel so blessed to have such amazing readers. The feedback I received on the last chapter was so encouraging and constructive, it gave me a burst of inspiration. I've been a writing fiend with chapters getting progressively longer. Thank you!

My amazing beta is misty23y, who has written several pieces herself. Thank you, Babe!

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

Date/Time Stamp: Sunday, September 16th 1200-1300

 **Stephanie POV**

I begin to stir from my nap as I sense I'm not alone, and I see Ranger sitting in a chair, watching me sleep. He sees my eyes begin to open and moves to half lay, half sit on the bed beside me. I roll onto my side and settle into the crook of his shoulder. "Mmmmm," I moan, relishing in the fuzziness of being half awake and half intoxicated by his scent. "Why were you sitting in the corner?" I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.

"I didn't want to disturb you," he said. "Watching you sleep is one of my favorite things."

"If you weren't so sexy, that could be considered creepy," I teasingly reply.

"You think I'm sexy?" Ranger says in a seductive voice.

I blush as words fail me and settle on another, "Mmmmm," stretching out my waking muscles. I sit beside Ranger, and he kisses the top of my hair. It sends a warmth straight down to my toes.

"I think you're good for me," I say.

"Babe?" Ranger questions.

"That's the best hour of sleep I've had in quite a while. I'm not saying I've managed to resolve my sleep issues, but it gives me hope, and I'm ready to talk about the future," I say confidently.

Ranger pulls me in closer. "Remember I'm here for you, whatever you need," he says.

"Thank you," I reply. "That knowledge helped me make quite a few decisions."

I take a deep breath and begin nervously but with resolution, "I can't go back to Trenton right now. I know your life is there, and I want to be with you, but I also understand if your business obligations require you to be there. Even though I've only been here a few short days, being away from the oppressive weight of that place has given me enough perspective to realize going back there right now will destroy me the way things stand." I sigh, saying in a smaller voice, "I hope I'm not already asking too much of you."

Ranger kisses the top of my head again, "Babe, no price, remember? I don't have to work out of Trenton. I can work out of any of the satellite offices or remotely. The business is built to survive if I go in the wind. Where do you want to be?"

I feel my shoulders sag in relief. "Miami," I say. "It works for you professionally, and it has the bonuses of Julie and the ocean."

"Miami it is Babe," Ranger agrees.

"I also decided I need to quit working for Vinnie," I continue. "I've been in the unfortunate position of loving the nature of the work despite being not completely equipped to handle its dangers coupled with the job being a barrier against a life I don't want. Before now, if I quit, I no longer had a reason in the eyes of Joe, my mother and the Burg to keep that relationship from moving along further. If I'm no longer in the Burg, I obviously can't work for the Bonds Office, but nor do I want to if and when I return. The issue with my future employment, or lack thereof, is where I need your help again.

"I don't want to stop working, but should I work for you, I would want to meet the same standards as any Rangeman employee. I do not want the standards or requirements bent, because of my relationship with you. That would only serve to make me feel like I am taking advantage of you. I'm willing to train, and, I hope I don't regret these words, I'm willing to work out, though I can't do field work right now. I'm a danger to myself and others. I've lost my confidence, I'm distracted, and I feel the burden of too many things being my fault after all." I am holding Ranger's shirt tightly in my hand as I confess my awareness of my professional shortcomings. I'm afraid he's going reject my proposal, saying that I won't be able to meet the requirements. He slides his hand on top of mine.

"Babe, I would love to train you. With a good physical fitness plan, I think you'll even come to enjoy that. Working out will help not only your body but your mind and soul." Ranger relaxes my fingers and takes my hand in his. "Do you remember the job I offered you some time ago in Trenton?" he asks.

"The office job?" I reply, wrinkling my nose in thought. "As I recall, it seemed like something I'm still not qualified for, and the last thing I want is to hurt your business any more than I already have."

I feel Ranger turn, and I find myself looking into his intent and serious face. "I would never offer you something I didn't think you could handle. Did you know your apprehension rate as a BEA is in the high 90th percentile? That's rare in this business. You have exceptional instincts, and while your methods are unconventional, you excel at playing to your strengths. With training, you will be one of the best in the field. The Core Team has long been after me to hire you as the Assistant Operations Officer under Lester and full Administrative Officer for Rangeman. You have years of field experience, you have a business degree, and very few people, especially civilians, can integrate themselves into the Rangeman work environment the way you have. I'm not saying you'd have to take on the role immediately, and you'd certainly have whatever training you needed to build into full strength. Additionally, you would be a salaried employee with the potential to eventually be a Rangeman partner."

My mouth opens in shock. No one thinks I'm good at anything, let alone having the ability to be one of the best. I was aiming for adequate and not embarrassing. I close my mouth, considering my reply. "Truthfully," I begin, "I'm having a hard time reconciling your view of me with my Burg-tainted view of me. Although I'm not ready to accept a position like that yet, I would like to work for you. I think it would be best if we could start lower than the executive officer level, perhaps half or three-quarters time while I train and put my life back together, reassessing in a few months. I'm assuming even at less than full-time my salary would be enough where I don't have to wonder if I'll be able to pay rent and eat month to month. I haven't had that kind of financial security for a long time, and it would help me focus on making myself better."

Ranger nods before saying, "I agree. We can work out the specifics of your job later. Babe, I know your financial independence is important to you, but know you don't have to want or need for anything with me. Freely given, what's mine is yours."

I squeeze his hand, replying, "I know, Ranger, and I appreciate it, but having a separate income stream is something I need right now. After Dickie, I had nothing left; I was completely destitute. I can't ever be afraid of being penniless again. Before you say anything, I know you're not Dickie, but I need my own money for my sanity." He nods again.

I sigh and look down. "This brings me to my last major decision. I've already given you an idea of how much I've been struggling these past few weeks. I feel in some ways as though the dam of denial I thought was working so well for me has broken, and I'm awash in the memories, feelings, and often sensations of so many horrible events. One moment I feel fine, and the next I'm paralyzed with fear, shame, vulnerability, anguish, and so much more. I don't sleep, I've had no appetite, and it's a challenge for me to get through the minimal requirements of my day sometimes. I know that isn't healthy. Talking to you has helped, but it isn't a long-term solution." I pause, my breath catching, the emotions simply confessing rising in my throat with eyes watering. "I think I need to see a therapist."

I'm expecting Ranger's judgment, for him to see again how weak and pathetic I am. Instead, he wraps me in a warm hug, kisses the top of my head, and says, "I'm proud of you, Babe." My heart soars, and I consider how incredible he is while he continues, "We have therapists that we contract with near each Rangeman location. Often the guys come home from missions with demons. The therapists help them work through their issues. I can set you up with one of the therapists in Miami if you'd like. Whenever you're ready to go back to Trenton, the therapist will share all your information with their colleague in Trenton so you can continue, if you still need the sessions."

I pause, considering the offer. "If I use a Rangeman contracted provider," I start, "will everyone know? Will 'Stephanie sees a shrink' be the new office gossip?" Coming from an environment such as the Burg, where everything I do is under constant scrutiny, I desperately want to guard myself against unnecessary judgment in the future.

"No, Babe. Our therapists work from their offsite offices. Bobby confidentially initiates the paperwork to set up the first visit, and all appointments are subsequently set up by you. If myself or another Rangeman employee of your choosing accompanies you and you agree to keep a panic button on you, we could also turn off vehicle tracking. I want you to be comfortable," Ranger says, ameliorating my concerns.

I appreciate his explanation, but it brings up another big question, and I feel myself panicking at the potential ramifications. I pull back abruptly and look at Ranger's concerned face. "Who are you going to tell about all the things I told you? What are you going to tell them?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowed, anxiety on the edge of my voice. I ramble, continuing without pause, "I mean, I guess you have to say something if you move to Miami, but I don't want anyone to..."

Ranger interrupts me, his voice slightly louder than my own, "Babe, it's okay." When I stop, he continues in a softer voice, "I won't say anything without your permission. One privilege of being the owner is that I don't have to justify my actions. However, Babe, you can trust the Core Team. They already see you as a sister and would do anything for you."

I sigh in relief and wipe my hands over my face before rubbing my neck, head bowed. _Trust, I have to trust, and I must be brave._ "I'm sorry. Trust is something I am learning. You may tell the Core Team what you think is prudent. Thank you for always believing in me and always helping me," I say.

I continue to sit slightly apart, placing my hands in my lap tightly woven together. I feel anxious because this conversation, while critical to moving forward, is taking its emotional toll. I take two deep breaths to center myself. The last topic I need to address is the hardest.

"I know our relationship has never lacked between the sheets," I say quietly. "I'm afraid you are going to be frustrated with me for being more reserved now, especially since we are officially together. I'm sorry. I'm finding second base a struggle, and I want to work on being more physically available to you." I sigh, tears gathering in my eyes. "Nothing feels quite right for me. I, I, want to, and then, I feel overwhelmed and afraid, and I begin to confuse what's in front of me with what's in the past. I think that it's Joe's hands on me, and his kisses, bringing back the shame my six, and sixteen-year-old selves felt. I know it isn't fair, that it isn't you, but even recently Joe betrayed my trust again." My words are rushing, and I'm tripping over them, tears freely falling. "I want to be good enough, to keep you satisfied, to enjoy that part of our lives, I just..." I pull my knees up to my chest, resting my chin there as my words fail.

I feel a roughly calloused finger under my chin, pulling up my gaze. Through the watery haze of tears, I see Ranger looking at me tenderly. He uses his other hand to wipe my tears before placing both hands gently on my shoulders. "Babe, you are more than enough for me. Our relationship is so much more than sex. While I love being with you that way, what matters more to me is being with you in whatever way makes you feel safe and loved. You are in control, no questions asked. If I ever push too hard, tell me." He leans in to kiss my forehead. "I," he kisses my cheek. "Love," he kisses my other cheek. "You," and he kisses me feather-light on the lips.

I sag into his chest, my tears from the stress of the confession and equal measures relief quietly soaking his shirt. "I love you, too," I say softly in reply.

"Babe, I have one favor to ask of you," Ranger says, rubbing my back. "When we aren't in a work environment, will you please call me Carlos?"

I pull back and smile. "Carlos," I give the name a try. It sends a shiver of delight down my spine. "Mmmmm," I sigh, before kissing him.

In his arms, I feel free to fly with that kiss, and I soar with peace and hope for the future.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: This is another banner week with more than 300 reviews, and as of this posting, 12,000 views this month! Woo hoo! When I began writing this story, I never imagined the reach it could have on this site. You guys are the best. I truly appreciate each and every comment, critique and praise. We may be entering Chapter 20, but there is a lot more to be said in this story. It's going to take me some time to finish this journey, and I'm so glad you have you riding shotgun.

My amazing beta is misty23y, who has written several pieces herself. Thank you, Babe!

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

Date/Time Stamp: Sunday, September 16th 1500-End of day

 **Ranger POV**

Steph and I rest for a while, each considering the implications of the decisions made between us in quiet contemplation. I'm incredibly proud of the choices my Babe has made. I'm also intensely relieved she is choosing to seek therapy instead of me suggesting it for her. That she is willing to take that step gives me hope she will be able to lay some of her demons to rest and heal.

I always considered Steph resilient, and while she is, she has greater insecurities that negatively affect her decision making and worldview than I realized. She does not see herself clearly in any regard. I will use my time training her professionally to build both her physical strength and her confidence. As her lover and partner, I will be going out of my way to help her believe in herself the way I believe in her. She needs positive voices in her life, not the voices of the Burg.

I have no qualms about moving to Miami for a time. When forming Rangeman, I initially planned for Miami to be its headquarters; then I met my Babe, and everything changed. As CEO, it's useful for me to spend time at each of the branches, and it will be a blessing to be near Julie and the Miami side of my family. I'd like Steph to get to know them, and them her, especially since I intend for her to be a member of the family someday.

I know Steph is working hard to trust me, and it's a trust I need to keep earning and reinforcing. She has every reason to be skeptical of accepting aid from anyone. I'm amazed she is making decisions to rely on me as much as she is. I will strive to be worthy and respectful of that trust.

Thinking about the immediate future, I need to call Tank to set things in motion for our arrival in Miami tomorrow. I shift, and Steph looks at me. "I need to make some phone calls," I say. "I'll be in the next room."

Steph nods her head then kisses me lightly on the lips. She gets up to make herself comfortable on the porch chaise lounge instead of the bed. I follow her with a glass of water and the last Pop Tart, hoping it will subtly encourage her to eat more. I kiss her head again and say, "Love you, Babe."

"I love you, too," Steph murmurs, already half asleep.

I step back into the room, leaving the door cracked so I can easily hear her as needed. I move quickly into my room and press the preset for Tank.

"Yo," he picks up.

"Tank," I pause, suddenly unsure of where to begin.

"How's Little Girl?" he asks, filling the silence.

I sigh, suddenly feeling the weight of the past three days crashing down on my shoulders. "I will be relocating to the Miami branch, arrival tomorrow afternoon. Steph will be joining me. She's going to become a part-time Rangeman employee as she begins training to build herself into full time."

"Roger. How's Little Girl?" Tank asks again, his voice firmer.

"Not great," I answer truthfully. There are very few people who I ever allow to see Carlos, leaving behind my Ranger persona to, and I know Tank respects the distinction. It's why we've been lifelong friends. I also know he cares almost as much about Steph as I do. "I'll let her share her story fully when she chooses. I can say she's been hurt and is continuing to be hurt, and we never fully saw the threat."

"Who?" Tank growls, his beast coming to the surface.

"Morelli," I spit out. "And her mother, among others. I need you to begin doing surveillance and data collection on him. I want a full history."

"What did the fucker do, Ranger? Should I bring him in?" Tank questions further, his anger apparent, though his voice is level.

"No. Steph made me promise not to do anything, but that doesn't stop me from building a case against him as leverage in the future." I pause, deciding my next words. "I'm not going to tell you everything right now. I will tell you one thing, and I want it kept between us. Morelli raped her at 16, and then wrote about it all over town before placing a bet he would eventually marry her." I hadn't said the words out loud up to this point, and they felt bitter on my tongue.

Tank's voice is low, his anger now barely in check. "Ranger, I want to kill him. What do you mean, one thing? There's more?"

"I know, but we can't. Steph needs our trust and support. Yes, unfortunately, there's more, but not now. There are a couple of things you can do. First, make it your mission to visit every men's restroom in the Burg. Morelli wrote poems all over town after he raped her, and some of them still exist. Steph found at least one, and it was one factor in the decline of her mental health. You are going to take documentary evidence of this graffiti, share it with me and destroy them. Second, find out more about this bet. I want banking information, transactional history, participants, everything. Steph's source is Michael Bruno."

"Consider it done," Tank replies, and I have every confidence it will be. We discuss a few more logistical items regarding my transfer to Miami and Steph's employment. Before ending the call, Tank says, "Take care of her."

"I will," I reply.

I dial Bobby next. "Yo," he says on the second ring.

I let Bobby know of my transfer to Miami for the immediate future, Steph's employment and building a training plan. He listens silently and doesn't press when I pause. "I need you to set up an appointment for Steph with our contracted therapist in Miami," I state.

"May I ask in regards to what? We have several, and it will help to know what specialties I should be matching her with," he professionally replies.

"Sexual assault and I suspect some form of PTSD and depression," I say, the words still difficult.

"Jesus!" Bobby exclaims. "What the hell happened to Bomber?" he presses.

"Morelli," I say the name with suppressed anger.

"Mother fucker. Are we bringing him in?" he demands.

"No, but you can work with Tank quietly gathering a file against him. I also gave him a specific task; he can fill you in. Steph will tell you her story when she is ready," I say.

Bobby pauses, and I give him a moment to calm his rage. "When and where do you want the appointment set up?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, offsite," I reply.

"Will do," Bobby confirms, and we end the call.

My next call is to Lester. Of the Core Team, I know he is the one that has the softest spot for Steph. He already sees her as family and has let me know I'm a dumbass on more than one occasion for not committing to a serious relationship with her. I'll never tell him, but he was right.

"How's Beautiful?" Lester questions after answering on the first ring.

"We are together now," I say, knowing he won't let it go at that. "Steph had legitimate reasons for going to Florida. I'm going to be transferring to Miami for now, and Steph has agreed to become a part-time Rangeman employee and undergo training."

"Cousin, how is she?" Lester presses.

"She'll be fine eventually," I say.

"I'll be in Miami tomorrow," Lester states, ending the call. I could stop him, but I think it's a good idea. Steph could use a familiar face as she begins training in a less familiar office.

I finish by contacting Marcos directly as a courtesy to let him know I will be conducting my business in the Miami office for now, but that I had no intention of becoming involved in local operations. I also explained Steph's employment and my vision for her training and orientation. He readily agreed and promised to have the apartment stocked and ready.

I walk to my porch to gather myself before returning to my Babe. I didn't expect it to be so taxing to merely form the words of some of the wrongs inflicted on her. I'm in awe again of her strength. I breathe deeply, flexing my tense muscles, reigning my beast back in. My anger at Morelli, her mother, hell the entire Burg is intense, and they are lucky I have a thousand miles between us. I steady myself reflecting on the actionable items I've already set in motion to make her life more secure. Relaxing, I focus on my future with Steph and my desire to support and love her. Feeling calmer, I walk back to her resting form, finding peace in her presence.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Happy Monday, and happy October! I hope your fall is off to a great start. Thank you again to everyone who left a comment, especially those I can't reply directly to, and thank you all for reading my story. After the weekend, let's kick off the week with this extra long chapter. Enjoy!

Thank you, misty23y, for the time you spend editing my story and challenging the details.

* * *

 **Chapter 21**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, September 17th 0600-1045

 **Stephanie POV**

Carlos and I spend the rest of the day and night in Daytona resting in each other's company. I can feel myself beginning to relax and heal in his presence, but I know I'm far from being back to myself. Slowly, I am finding that in allowing myself to be vulnerable and trust him with my weaknesses, I become stronger. We shower together, and he doesn't judge me or use the intimate situation to pressure me physically. When I have another nightmare, I don't hide, but accept comfort in his arms willingly. I know that even in the midst of my darkest days, I have found the light of love my soul was looking for in Carlos. Regardless, I'm a little afraid he is going to become tired of my neediness and begin to consider me a burden, but I am doing my best to have faith in a future together.

Like most mornings, I give up on sleep at daybreak. Carlos and I return to the diner for breakfast, enjoying the sunrise with a walk on the beak. When we return to the motel, Carlos and I quickly pack, check out and walk to the parking lot. As it turns out, it only takes three nights instead of four to have a breakdown, but I'm glad I won't be charged the extra night. It's astounding how much things have changed in my life since Friday.

Of all things, we never discussed transportation to Daytona. I stop under the check-in awning, staring at my car, unsure of where to go. It isn't a Porsche, but as I've had this little Honda more than most of my vehicles, I've grown fond of it. More importantly, it's mine; I paid for it in full.

Carlos, carrying both of our bags, pauses beside me, saying, "I arranged with the rental car company to have my car picked up here. Would you like to drive, or should I?" I look up at him with a big smile.

I dig the key ring out of my purse and place it in his hand, saying, "I don't know what I did to deserve you. Thank you."

"Babe, I think it's the other way around," he replies, giving me a smile of his own.

If Carlos is uncomfortable settling his larger frame into a compact car, he doesn't show it and even manages to make the ordinary vehicle seem sexy with his presence behind the wheel. We turn south with GPS indicating at least a four-hour drive ahead of us.

I internally wrestle with the decision to acknowledge my phone or throw it out the window. I eventually pull it out of my purse, staring at the message indicators. Carlos glances at me, assessing my indecision, and places a comforting hand on mine. "Let's listen to these together," I say. "Then you'll begin to get an idea of what it's like for me every time something happens in my life." I press play.

 _ **First message, Friday, September 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 9:08 am:**_ _"Hi Stephanie, it's Connie. I got your text. I can cover you a couple of days with Vinnie but keep this trip short. He's already pissed you've been bringing in fewer skips lately. You're going to need to go for some higher bonds when you get back if you want to keep your job. Between you and me, I saw some papers on his desk, and I think he's looking for another bounty hunter."_

I let go a long exhale, relieved I already made the decision to quit. I can't blame Vinnie for looking for my replacement. He has a business to run, and both he and my checkbook know I haven't been bringing skips in lately.

 _ **Second message, Friday, September 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 10:13 am:**_ _"Stephanie, it's your mother. How long did you say you'll be gone again? When will you be back? Where did you go? I can't take care of your rodent forever, you know."_

It didn't take her long to regret helping me, I think with resignation. I should have known better than to trust she would be there for me. I can feel my shoulders and neck beginning to tighten.

 _ **Third message, Friday, September 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 11:09 am:**_ _"Yo, Beautiful,"_ came Lester's voice. _"I see you're driving south. You should let me join you. I make an excellent road trip companion. But seriously, where are you going, and are you in any danger? Please call me back."_

Lester's playful tone in the first half of the message makes me smile slightly, and I feel bad I made him worry. Lester is one of the people I connect best with at Rangeman, and I consider the possibility I should I open up to him and let him be a part of my solution moving forward.

 _ **Fourth message, Friday, September 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 11:24 am:**_ _"Cupcake, I'm sorry. I know things have been different between us, and I know something is up with you. The best part of us is the sex, and without that, we are barely friends. When you get back from your vacation, I'll have removed all your things from my home and returned them to you. I'm moving on. If you want to compete for the title of Mrs. Morelli when you get back, you can do so on an open playing field. I love you, I always will. I hope you figure out what you want."_

I sigh and close my eyes. Just hearing Joe's voice makes the hair on my arms stand up, and I roll my shoulders attempting to forcing some of the tension out of my body. The last time I heard that voice, he was trying to rape me. My stomach clenches at the memory, and I grind my teeth together.

 _ **Fifth message, Friday, September 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 11:36 am:**_ _"Stephanie, it's your mother again. Why are those thugs at my door asking me about you? Did you involve me in the trouble you always find yourself in? Keep me out of it! I expect you to call your mother and explain yourself."_

The back to back double whammy of Morelli's voice and my mother's condemnation has my stomach rolling.

 _ **Sixth message, Friday, September 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 1:45 pm:**_ _"Hey White Girl, where you at? Why you leave town without telling me? Word has it you are on the outs with Morelli again. That true? Why you keep breaking up with Super Cop? Call me back, ya hear. I don't want to keep finding out about you second hand. We have a reputation to keep up."_

I can hear the slurp of a fountain drink and the crinkle of a wrapper as she hung up. It occurs to me Lula is only asking about the gossip, but she never asked how I am doing. I will need to be more cautious in the future with the information I relay to her.

 _ **Seventh message, Saturday, September 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 8:03 am:**_ _"Steph, it's me,"_ comes Mary Lou's voice. _"You are not going to believe what I just heard! Janice told Bev who called me saying Morelli was seen with Terry Gillman leaving that cheap motel on the edge of town at 6 o'clock this morning. Did you guys break up? Are we ok with this? Call me!"_

I know Mary Lou only has good intentions, but I feel shocked at the news. That didn't take Morelli long. Was this a first time, or has he been cheating on me? I place my hand on my stomach, slightly sick. First the Dick, now this. What is so wrong with me that I'm not enough in a relationship?

 _ **Eighth message, Saturday, September 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 9:21 am:**_ _"Stephanie, what's this I hear about Joseph and that Terry Gillman? Did you break up and leave town? What did you do to push that nice boy away? You need to come home immediately and fix this,"_ my mother said. Why does my mother always take Joe's side? Why haven't I ever been worth her love and loyalty? My head is pounding.

 _ **Ninth message, Saturday, September 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 10:02 am:**_ _"Hey Cupcake, I've spent the last day thinking. I take back my last message. I don't want to break up with you. I'm sorry things got heated between us. The boys and I have been missing you, and I was feeling impatient. Forgive me, and let's make this right."_

I hear Morelli's attempts at charming me, and I know I've listened to this voice, nearly these exact words before during our on again, off again relationship. I'm suddenly sure this was not his first time with Terry. The only question remaining in my mind is how long he has been unfaithful.

 _ **Tenth message, Saturday, September 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 11:14 am:**_ _"Stephanie,"_ Grandma says my name, drawing out every syllable. _"You would not believe the tiff your mother has worked herself into because she thinks you left Joe and forced him into Terry Gillman's arms. Well, good for you if you did. He's a good for nothing horse's patoot. I put Rex in my room, so he wouldn't get accidentally ironed. I hope you find yourself in good company this weekend, someone with a nice package. See you soon! Love you, Sweetie!"_

I smile tightly, glad to hear someone caring about me. Grandma has always been my greatest champion.

 _ **Eleventh message, Saturday, September 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 3:38 pm:**_ _"I'm your mother, Stephanie. When I say call me, it means to call me!"_

I turn my head to look out the window as unwelcome tears fills the corners of my eyes. Why does my own mother time and again reject me?

 _ **Twelfth message, Sunday, September 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 5:21 pm:**_ _"Steph, it's Val. What did you do this time? Do you know how much your antics affect mom, and by extension the rest of the family? You need to think about others and not just yourself when you pull these stunts."_ Valerie the Saint.

I knew it was only a matter of time before my mother enlisted her as a soldier in her fight against me. And as always, Valerie is a willing foot soldier.

 _ **Thirteenth message, Sunday, September 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 9:24 pm:**_ _"Cupcake, don't ignore me. We can work it out. Please give me another chance. I want you to come back."_

This time Morelli used his bedroom voice, but the words were slurred, and I knew he had been drinking, just as he had Thursday night. I hate myself for the feeling of fear that rises up inside me at the sound of his voice, and I now have both hands on my stomach.

 _ **Fourteenth message, Monday, September 16**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 7:45 am:**_ _"Stephanie Michelle Plum, how dare you leave town in dubious circumstances, use us to take care of your pet and then not even have the common courtesy of returning a phone call. I know I raised you differently. When I say call me, I don't mean days later. Call me today, now!"_ says my mother's shrill voice.

My nausea increases exponentially, and I feel a tension headache developing. I try to ignore both the symptoms and push through the remaining messages.

 _ **Fifteenth message, Monday, September 16**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 8:53 am:**_ _"Cupcake, why aren't you returning anyone's phone calls? Your mother is quite upset, and I understand Manoso's goons were asking around about you. You need to call me immediately, or I'll be forced to file a missing person's report,"_ Morelli threatens.

 _ **Sixteenth message, Monday, September 16**_ _ **th**_ _ **at 9:14 am:**_ _"Cupcake, I heard from a few people around town that Manoso hasn't been seen since Friday. You better not be with him. You know the minute you give yourself to him he'll dump you the first chance he gets. Men like Manoso don't bother with Plain Janes like you who have nothing exciting to offer between the sheets."_

At this point, I'm feeling betrayed, hurt, scared, sad and angry. I thought I loved him, and that he loved me. I thought we had a good, healthy sex life, that we both got satisfaction from each other. Yes, I mean I did fake it a few times, but those were extenuating circumstances. I thought the same of the Dick. How am I such a lousy judge of character when it comes to my heart?

There were several more from various acquaintances who only seemed to know my number when the gossip was getting good. I saw more of the same when I scrolled through the texts. Glancing at the clock, I see it took nearly 45 minutes to go through all the information.

"The texts are more of the same," I tell Ranger in a detached voice. "Come home, where are you, everyone wanting to know about my private life, the usual."

I glance over and see Ranger's hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Babe, how often do you have to listen to messages like that?" His voice is tight, and I can tell he is controlling his anger.

I shrug in resignation. These messages are such a commonplace occurrence for me; I don't feel anything as substantial as anger anymore. "Every time anything happens. It's usually worse. I smoothed a few things over before leaving town, so I expect a lot more calls and messages between tomorrow and the next day."

"More?" Ranger looks shocked. "I knew you tended to be the center of gossip from time to time, but I had no idea."

I look out the window, merely saying, "I'm used to it." That is usually true but listening to the messages this time was different. I'm still clutching my stomach with one hand, and suddenly, the car feels small. I turn off my phone and stow it in my bag while asking Ranger in a strained voice, "Please pull over at a gas station."

I can feel his eyes on me as I rest my forehead on the cool glass of the side window and listen to the blinker signaling our move to the exit lane. I can't look at him. I love Ranger, and I hate that Morelli and my mom have this effect on me. We park, and I move to undo my seatbelt quickly. As I do, Carlos reaches over to take my hand, his thumb rubbing small soothing circles. "You shouldn't have to be used to it, Babe. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. This isn't your fault. _Querida, te quiero_."


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: As always, thank you for the wonderful comments you have left. I value each of them. On various chapters (not this one), would you prefer I put up a tissue warning if I feel it's a more emotional chapter, or would that be a spoiler? Please PM me or leave a note.

Thank you, misty23y, for the time you spend editing my story and challenging the details. She also writes her own stories. I hope you check out the latest chapter of _Metamorphosis_ and her new work, _Spring Break._

* * *

 **Chapter 22**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, September 17th 1045-1130

 **Stephanie POV**

Without saying a word, I turn and quickly walk to the restroom. My breakfast makes an expedient return, but I fight the tears. I might not be able to control my stomach's revolt, but I will not cry. I don't want Morelli, my family or the Burg to have this power over me. I drove a thousand miles away, and I'm willing to move further away with the man I love to break free.

I rinse my mouth and face, and when I exit the bathroom, I'm not surprised to see Ranger standing nearby with a concerned expression, his eyes quickly scanning my body. I'm not ready to talk, so I turn to gather some water, gum, and Advil on my way to the cashier. Carlos doesn't leave my side, and he pays for and carries my selections to the car. When we reach the passenger door, I turn to hug him fiercely. He returns the embrace, and I feel some of the tension leave my body. I whisper, "I love you."

As we continue the drive south, I consider Carlos's assessment of the messages. Everything I do is regularly judged on a grand scale. I wish this set of messages was unique, but it isn't. Still, learning of Joe's infidelity and hearing the latest round of threats from him and my mother has me feeling worse than usual. I realize I'm running low on my ability to deal with all this crap.

"Morelli is a shithead," I finally say, shaking my head in exasperation. "I can't believe I kept letting him into my life. Never again."

Carlos looks at me sideways, nodding in agreement, "I love you. I'm proud of you, Babe. Facing the past to make a better future is a difficult process, and I'll be there for you every step of the way."

I rest of head on the back of the seat, closing my eyes. "I love you, too, Carlos," I say. "For everything, thank you. I am glad I'm with you."

I reflect on the messages, and I realize I need to prevent Morelli and my mother from filing any ridiculous reports. The last thing I want is for Carlos or his company to have any more trouble because of me.

"I suppose I need to call them back," I say, not looking forward to it.

Carlos looks at me sharply. "No, you don't," he says. "You don't owe them anything. Babe, you have many important reasons for giving yourself distance and time. If you do decide to call or leave a message, I will be there with you, or I can do it for you. I also think it might be a good idea if you forward your messages to me so that I can screen them. There is no reason for you to listen to anything like that again."

I consider the offer. I want my mental health to improve. Listening to this last set of messages, especially hearing Morelli's voice, was almost more than I can handle right now. Carlos is right. I realize that in giving up my stubborn grasp on independence and learning to depend on another worthy of my trust, I can lighten my load and heal faster.

I playback the messages in my mind, deciding what to do. I'm leaving town for longer than I planned, and while I don't give two hoots what the Burg things of that, it bolsters my spirit that Mary Lou and my Grandma called caring about _me_. I don't want them to worry because of my actions.

I reach across and touch Carlos on his arm. "I understand, and I agree. Thank you for being willing to do that. I'm going to make two calls," I say, and Carlos presses his lips together, his face concerned. I appreciate he isn't attempting to control me, even if I can tell he doesn't agree with me. I take the phone out of my purse and turn it on, dialing Mary Lou.

"Stephanie, how are you? Where are you? Are you okay?" Mary Lou asks immediately.

"Hey Lou," I say evenly. "I'm fine, and I'm with Ranger. I'm leaving town for a while, but I'll be back eventually."

"Alright, Steph. Did you leave because of Joe? He didn't try anything, did he? If he did, I'm sending Lenny after him. I can't believe he was seen around town with Terry not hours after you left. Did you break up?" Mary Lou questions, her voice ripe with concern and outrage.

"I left because I needed to. Yes, Morelli and I have broken up, for good this time, and I don't care whose bed he travels through," I say, contempt woven in my words. "I have to go now. Please don't worry about me. I'll be in touch soon. If you need something, you can leave a message on my phone, and I'll get back to you eventually. If it's urgent, do you still have Ranger's number?"

"Yeah, I do. I love you, Steph. Take care of yourself, you hear?" Mary Lou replies, compassion underlying her message.

"By Lou, love you, too," I say, hanging up.

I consider how to contact Grandma. The last thing I want it to dial my home and have my mother pick up the phone. I look at calendar app, remembering this is when Grandma has her weekly appointment at the Clip 'n' Curl. I dial the salon, asking the receptionist for Edna without identifying myself.

"Hello?" queries Grandma.

"Hey, Grandma," I say quietly. "Thanks for saving Rex."

"Stephanie!" she exclaims, and I hear the background noise in the salon quiet. I will keep this short and non-specific. "How are you? It's a pip the tizzy your mother's worked herself into over you and that Joseph fellow. Good for you."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Joe and I are officially broken up. Feel free to spread the word," I say in exasperation.

"You bet I will! He's a horse's patoot, and good riddance, if you ask me," Grandma says, and I feel heartened knowing she is in my corner.

"I've decided to make this an extended vacation. I don't know when I'll be back, and please don't worry about me. Someone will come for Rex," I say, my voice indicating I don't want to discuss it further. "I'll be keeping my phone off. Leave a message if you need something, and I'll get back to you eventually."

"Sure thing, Stephanie. Take all the time you need. I hope you get a tan and a real man while you are at it. I'll be waiting to hear all about your adventures. I love you," Grandma says and tears spring to the corners of my eyes.

"I love you, too, Grandma. Bye," I say in a voice husky with emotion, ending the call.

I turn the phone off as I stare out the window collecting myself. I'm glad I made those calls. It heartens me to hear the voices of people who do care about me in the midst of the chaos of those who don't. I don't think I've ever considered the difference between the two groups, and I know that is part of what brought me to this point. I need to be more discerning in my relationships with my family and friends.

"Okay, please take the thing," I say, place the phone on the console between Carlos and me. "Is there some way to prevent Morelli or my mother from filing a missing person's report? I want them to leave me alone, and I don't want Morelli or my family to create any problems for you or Rangeman. However, I don't want them to know where I am."

Carlos picks up the phone and tucks it into his pocket before once again taking my hand in his. "Don't worry about me, Babe," he says assuredly. "I'll send a message to your mother later today, and I'll contact the Chief letting him know you are safe and to disregard Morelli." Carlos pauses, before looking at me through his periphery and continuing, "I would like to use the special relationship I've earned with the Trenton PD to shut down the betting against you. I'm confident the Chief doesn't know about it, and this is something I should have addressed a long time ago. I'm sorry I haven't." He squeezes my hand slightly.

While I know he loves me; no one has ever gone out of their way to support me the way Carlos has and is continually willing to do. I'm touched, and the moment he offered, I felt immensely relieved. The constant betting on my every perceived failure has damaged my self-esteem and contributed to my feeling of inadequacy. Knowing I won't continue to be a sporting event to the police department is important to me. I squeeze his hand back as I rest my head on the headrest, turning to look at Carlos. "Thank you," I say. "I feel like I'm saying it a lot lately, but I mean it. Yes, please, do all of that."

I take a deep breath in and out, appreciating passing off that burden. "But Carlos," I continue. "By giving you my phone, I'm also trusting you not to keep me in the dark on important information. Please do not hide things from me," I finish seriously.

"Of course, Babe. I may paraphrase, but I won't violate your trust. I will keep you updated, and I won't act on your behalf without your knowledge," Carlos replies solemnly. I believe him easily, and his words put me at ease.

I change the topic, saying, "Will you tell me what to expect with the rest of the day?" I'm not really in the mood for surprises.

"Absolutely," Carlos says. "I should have told you already. Bobby made an appointment with Dr. Anderson for this afternoon. We can go there directly or stop at Rangeman first. I have an apartment in the Miami building similar to Trenton that is ready for our use. I'll check in with Marcos, who is essentially Miami's Tank, at some point, but that's the extent of my business obligations."

Carlos is usually a man of action, and I again find myself appreciative of his consideration of my opinion.

"We can go to the appointment first. Thank you for setting it up," I say. I consider the logistics of staying at Rangeman Miami. "Will I be expected to meet everyone at Rangeman right away, or could I keep a low profile at first?" I am mentally and physically tired, and there are a lot of changes happening all at once in my life.

Carlos squeezes my hand. "There's no rush, Babe," he says, alleviating some of my fears. "In the interest of full disclosure, I spoke with Tank, Bobby, and Lester yesterday. I know your privacy is important, and I kept details to a pertinent minimum. Lester doesn't know anything, but he decided to come down here and see for himself that you are okay. If you are comfortable with the arrangement, I'd like him to help you with your training and orientation at Rangeman whenever you are ready."

"Lester is coming to Miami?" I say, surprised. I'm not doubting that Carlos is telling the truth. It simply hadn't occurred to me anyone would care that much. "Yeah," I fill the pause quickly. "That would be fine."

Lester's decision to relocate because of me is humbling, and I realize my thoughts of opening up to him may become a reality. Have I misjudged my relationship with the Merry Men? For the first time, I consider the possibility these men chose to be my friend and aren't friends by default due to my relationship with Carlos. I'm deeply relieved to know I'll have a partner at work to whom I won't have to explain myself, and that I know Lester will help me work hard to do what is necessary to be successful.

Carlos nods and continues. "I did ask Tank and Bobby to start a file on Morelli discretely. We don't have to do anything with the information. I want to have options should it be necessary. I also asked them to locate and remove all of those _messages_ he left around town following the Tasty Pastry incident."

I feel Carlos's hand tighten around mine, and I know he's trying to contain his anger. I sigh, looking out the window. Old Stephanie would have been instantly angry at even this intrusion into my life and would want to slink back into denial. I reflect again on the past weekend, and I know part of being a stronger me is trusting Carlos.

Carlos is someone who executes control in everything happening around him and uses a vast network of resources to know about everything happening in his sphere. I don't believe he is often surprised by things, and I certainly dropped a bombshell on him. His actions only have my best interests at heart, and they will help him regain a sense of control in a difficult situation.

"It's a good idea," I say while looking at him, pulling my lips into a tight smile. "Morelli has shown himself not to be the person I thought he was. It would follow there are other things hidden in his life." With Carlos's hand still over mine, I rest our hands together on his leg, drawing comfort from his proximity and holding my emotions at the extent of Morelli's betrayal at bay. "I'm glad you're removing those messages. I appreciate not having that day memorialized around town. Thank you, I'm grateful you want to take care of me," I say quietly.

I feel him relax and return the small smile, saying, "No price, Babe."


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: I've decided against posting tissue warnings, but if any reader wants to reach out to me before reading a chapter, I will reply answering any concerns. I have not yet replied to comments from Chapter 22, but I have read and appreciated each of them and will do so. Writing this story is a great experience for me, and the community of readers is a big reason for that. Thank you.

Thank you, also, to misty23y, for her work as my beta. Please take the time to read her terrific stories as well.

* * *

 **Chapter 23**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, September 17th 1130-1600

 **Stephanie POV**

We drive another hour with both of us in our zone. I stare out the window, lost in the beauty of the Florida coast. The closer we get to Miami, the more withdrawn and nervous I feel myself becoming. Ranger pulls over for lunch at a mom and pop café serving all-American classics north of Miami. We settle side by side in a booth, and I'm grateful Carlos is beside me. While we've been nearby each other in the car, I've been craving the physical touch and security of his body.

I rest my head on his shoulder as I review the menu. Nothing looks good. I haven't been neglecting my diet on purpose lately; I'm not hungry. Our server leaves a glass of ice water, dripping with moisture due to the humid Florida air. I choose grilled cheese and tomato soup, hoping the comfort food sparks a desire to eat.

I find the air conditioning in the restaurant exceptionally cold after being in the mid-day sun, and I shiver, rubbing my hands on my arms. Carlos wraps his arm around me, kissing the top of my head. The simple act warms me from the inside out, giving me new shivers of delight. Even though Carlos and I have been physical in the past, the last couple of days have sparked a new intimacy between us. The simple touches, tender caresses, and thoughtful actions are nourishing the blossoming love between us.

I look up at Carlos, saying, "I love you." I want to say more, but I can't seem to find the words.

He hugs me closer, leans down for a light kiss and replies, "I love you, too."

And there we sit, waiting for his garden salad with grilled chicken and a side of fruit, and my entrée. I'm appreciative Carlos doesn't feel the need to fill the silence, and the quiet isn't awkward. I find my mind wandering to the afternoon. I'm pensive thinking about meeting the therapist and not sure what to expect from the experience. I'm nervous about joining the Rangeman Miami team, and I'm sure I'm not up to a big social meet and greet today. I'm not even sure how I feel about residing in the building. I am worried that the Miami Merry Men would scrutinize my every movement.

The waitress places our food in front of us, and I sigh in resignation at my plate. I pick and nibble, but my stomach knots up. I'm mindful of Carlos's eyes on me, and I try again mainly for his sake. I give up after a couple of bites and excuse myself to the restroom.

Once in the stall, I give myself a pep talk. _Pull yourself together, Stephanie. You are getting what you want. It's going to work out. Things are going to get better. Carlos is here for you. Be strong._ I step out, rinsing my face with water, resolving to be committed to this path.

I sit down again, making another attempt at the now soggy sandwich and cold soup. It isn't going to happen. I see the fruit cup beside Carlos's plate and choose an apple slice instead. He pushes the entire dish my way.

"What are you thinking, Babe?" Carlos asks, concern laced in his words.

I place my hand on his leg, moving my fingers in an idle pattern. "I'm sorry," I start. "I know I'm not good company right now. It isn't you."

"You don't need to apologize," he replies. " _Querida_ , I want to understand why you aren't eating. Please talk to me."

I want to give him a simple, " _I'm fine,"_ reply and deflect with a new conversation topic, but that wouldn't be honest. That wouldn't be strong. So, I decide to give honesty a shot. "I'm trying, but I just can't. I'm too nervous about everything that's about to happen. Seeing the therapist, becoming acquainted with a new Rangeman and all their Merry Men, starting a new job, dealing with all those messages and the people who left them, and closing the door on my old life, so I can embrace the new. There is a lot up in the air right now. I don't regret anything we are doing. Please don't take it that way. I want to be here with you. I'm a bit anxious, and I'm fairly sure that if I eat too much of this, it won't stay in long anyway."

I nervously turn my head to look at Carlos, and he kisses my forehead. "It's going to be okay," he says. "I promise to take each of those steps with you."

"I know; I do. That is also something I am getting used to, I've never had that person before. That someone who stood by me no matter what," and I pause, resting my body in the crook of Carlos's arm. "I'll try eating again later. I need to get through some of the days' events first."

"I'm going to hold you to that," he says. We get up, Carlos pays the bill, and we hit the road again.

As we drive, I reach across and place my hand on Carlos's leg. I use his body as an anchor to my churning thoughts. Soon we are pulling in front of a gray three-story office building with two small potted palms standing guard over the front entrance. Carlos leans over to unbuckle my seatbelt, kissing me chastely. I sit there, gathering my courage when he opens my door and gently pulls me into a tender embrace. "I'm so proud of you, Babe," he says into my ear. "I know this is a big deal for you, and I believe in you. _Querida, te quiero._ "

I relax, letting the feeling of peace wash over me that only Carlos's words give me. _I can do this. I will do what it takes to chase these demons away._ I look up at Carlos and nod my agreement. I square my shoulders, take his hand and head into the building. As we ride the elevator to the third floor, Carlos asks, "Would you like me to wait outside or join you? And either way, if you don't mind, I've met with Dr. Anderson myself before, and I would like a moment alone as well. I won't be long."

I hadn't considered the possibility Carlos had seen a therapist before, but it makes sense given the little I know of his professional history. And suddenly, the knowledge that the bravest, strongest person I know has used the process before fills me with courage and resolve. "I'd like to go in alone, and of course, take all the time you need," I reply, squeezing his hand.

We walk into the office and find ourselves in a tranquil waiting room. Lighting is from several corner lamps, and there is a small water feature running on a corner table. Soft music plays overhead. As we settle into padded chairs, I inhale the comforting smell of lavender.

Rather quickly, a corner door opens, and a middle-aged woman warmly greets me with a broad smile. She has medium length blonde hair streaked with gray, pale blue eyes and fair skin with a reddish hue. "Hello, you must be Stephanie. I'm Dr. Anna Anderson," she says, holding out her hand. I stand while wiping my clammy palms on my jeans before shaking hers in greeting.

"Yes, it's nice to meet you," I reply automatically before looking back at Carlos for reassurance. He gives me a closed-lip smile, nodding his head once. I take a deep breath and follow Dr. Anderson into her office, making my way to a comfortable looking blue chair. There is a box of tissues and a couple of small fidget devices on the table beside me. She takes a seat in her chair opposite me, crossing her legs with a legal pad on her lap.

Looking around the room, I see diplomas from the University of Minnesota and the University of Notre Dame. "What brings you to Florida from the Midwest?" I ask, mostly to begin talking about anything other than why I'm here.

Dr. Anderson smiles with a genuine laugh, "Winter isn't for everyone. I prefer the ocean and palm trees to ice covered lakes and snow crusted evergreens."

I find myself smiling in return. "I think that makes two of us."

"Now, Stephanie, I've spoken briefly with Bobby, but I'd like you to tell me what made you decide to come to see me and what you would like to gain from our discussions," she says in professional guidance.

I shift in my seat, tucking my legs underneath me, and start. I find that once I begin, I can't stop. It's pouring out of me, the entire story. Dr. Anderson occasionally interjects to ask questions about various people and their relationship to me or to seek clarification, but to her credit, she mostly listens. Having relayed the story to Carlos Saturday makes it easier the second time, and I'm focusing on different aspects. I'm finding new feelings rising to the surface with anger, grief and a sense of betrayal added to the mix. I'm crying, but it doesn't slow me down.

I talk about Joe, my family and the Burg and all the events precipitating my drive to Florida. I discuss my relationship with Carlos and everything that has transpired between us, good and bad. I share my hope in our newfound relationship, but I'm open about my insecurities. As I explain everything, I feel as though I am removing some of the burdens of the past. I'm unpacking my history and exposing all the ugliness. In doing so, I find validation, perspective, and peace.

"I want to be able to process everything that's happened. In many ways, I've used denial as a coping mechanism for most of my life, but it's prevented me from dealing with everything until now. I want a better way to handle the negative people in my life. I want to be stronger. I want to heal. I want to sleep, shower and eat easily! I don't know how to do that alone," I say with a fervent energy that surprises me.

"Thank you for opening up to me, Stephanie," Dr. Anderson says, setting her pen down. "You've already started down the path of healing, and with your determination, I know you will reach your goals. I am going to end our session by giving you a couple of tools for your mental health toolbox.

"The first is help you stay present when you begin to feel overwhelmed or as though a flashback is about to take over. Place your hands on something solid. Then I want you to breathe slowly and deeply. As you do, direct your focus to your five senses. Mentally or out loud say one thing you taste, two things you smell, three things you feel, four things you hear, and five things you see. Use the exercise to ground yourself and to take control of your environment.

"The second is to help us prepare for our next session. I would like you to write an impact statement. Describe why you think these things have occurred and what beliefs you have as to their impact on you, those around you, and your world in general. We will go over it together. Lastly, be kind to yourself. You have worked hard today." Dr. Anderson pauses, letting me absorb her advice. "I would like to see you again tomorrow regardless if you finish the statement," she says. "When are you available?"

"We will need to ask Ranger," I say, standing. We exit the office, and Carlos stands immediately.

I walk the short distance to him and quickly wrap my arms around his waist resting my head on his chest. I hold the embrace for only a second before breaking it, taking a step back. He keeps a hand on the small of my back. "Please schedule the next appointment for me while you speak with Dr. Anderson," I say.

The corners of Carlos's mouth turn upward in a slight smile, and he nods. I sit in the seat Carlos vacated as he enters the office. I relish in the aloneness of the moment, valuing the opportunity to center myself.

I realize that while I feel more tired than I ever have in my life, I also feel lighter. For the first time, the pain of the past seems surmountable. I hope that with work, I will be able to move forward. Not today, and not tomorrow, but I will learn to fly a little more each day.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: I'm continually impressed with the wonderful comments left after each chapter. I've used those comments to reconsider storylines and even rewritten parts of chapters as I ponder your feedback and realize new implications. Thank you for taking the time to leave them, especially to those reviewers I can't directly contact.

Thank you again to misty23y for her work as my beta. She works hard to keep this effort grammatically correct, the details consistent, and challenges the direction and pacing of the story. Please take the time to read her terrific writing as well.

* * *

 **Chapter 24**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, September 17th 1430-1615

 **Ranger POV**

I am intensely relieved to see my Babe walking into Dr. Anderson's office. Her therapy has helped many Rangemen, myself included, face the demons that seem to go hand in hand with our occupations. I have every confidence she will also be able to help Steph.

I'm also grateful to have a moment to calm my own emotions. It's unacceptable that Steph listens to a litany of messages _every time_ something happens in her life. As much as I want to call Tank and have the whole lot of them rounded up and taught a lesson, it wouldn't be productive in the long run. Joe. Fucking. Morelli. Steph immediately paled and turned green when his voice came through the phone. She tried to put on a brave face, but I know she was sick in that bathroom. Eventually, that bastard will pay for the harm he has caused.

It is a great decision on Steph's part to relinquish her phone. I'm sure her mental health can't handle another barrage of calls like that right now, especially since my Babe is likely right that there will be many more messages in the next 24 hours. I sigh, pull out Steph's phone and turn it on. Nineteen missed calls and fifteen messages in the last four hours. I shake my head in exasperation. The Burg needs a new hobby.

I use the phone to autodial Stephanie's mother. She picks up on the second ring.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, how dare you disappear and leave us with more of your troubles. Do you know what you've been putting poor Joseph through the past few days? He feels terrible about the way you left things with him. He is your best chance at happiness. Why do I have to have a daughter who can't settle down, get married and have babies? It's disgraceful! I expect you home and explaining yourself by dinner!" shouts Ellen Plum's shrill voice.

I'm shocked by this greeting. How can anyone treat a daughter this way? My Babe made a wise decision to remain in Florida and to keep her whereabouts unknown to her family and the Burg.

"Mrs. Plum," I interject in a low, authoritative voice. "Stephanie has asked me to contact you to assure you she is fine. She will not be present at dinner tonight or any night in the foreseeable future. She left Trenton of her own free will and had decided not to return at this time. I do not know if and when she will return. There will be a representative of my company coming by later today to collect any of her things from you. Should you need to reach Stephanie, leave a message on her number and someone will eventually contact you."

I hear a gasp and the clinking of ice cubes in a glass. "You have some nerve calling like this! I demand to speak to my daughter!" Ellen spits out.

"Stephanie is an adult, and you have no right to demand anything from her. I suggest you reconsider how you speak to her and the expectations you place on her before you attempt to contact her again," I finish and hang up. I may have overreached, but it needed to be said. Steph's mother is a bitch who is complicit in my Babe's emotional upheaval.

Next, I dial Joe Juniak's personal line from my phone. He's the former Chief of Police, former Mayor of Trenton and now a Congressman for the State of New Jersey. He is also a long-time friend, and he owes me a few favors. Additionally, as Steph's Godfather, I know he won't hesitate to help improve her situation.

Joe answers warmly, "Ranger, hello! How are you? To what do I owe this pleasure?"

I answer in an even tone, "Congressman, hello. Unfortunately, I'm calling you to help me with an important issue regarding Stephanie. It's recently come to my attention there has been long-term betting against Stephanie occurring at the Precinct. It is one of the reasons incidents involving her tend to be a circus, further endangering everyone involved. I've also learned it's one of the reasons Trenton PD refuses to offer her assistance or other support in her capacity as a bounty hunter. I believe one of the leaders in the betting scheme is Detective Joe Morelli, and that he is using it to manipulate Stephanie into quitting her job and furthering their now over relationship on his terms. I'm sure others are involved. Can I count on you to use your connections to investigate this claim and shut it down?"

Joe is silent for a beat before responding with outrage low in his voice, "Of course. I'll begin working on it immediately. Is she alright, Ranger? Has something else happened?"

I appreciate Joe's deductive reasoning, and his ability to see past what I said is one of the reasons I respect him. "Yes, there are other things, but I'm not going to break Stephanie's confidence. I'm telling you this much because I have an additional request. Morelli is also conspiring with Stephanie's mother to file a missing person report and use valuable resources to search for her. Mrs. Plum has been contacted and assured of Stephanie's safety. Stephanie left of her own free will and subsequently contacted me. She will not be returning to Trenton for a while, and she does not want her family to know where she is."

"Yes, consider it done. I'll speak with the Chief today," Joe states before clearing his throat. When he continues, I hear concern underlying his words. "Take care of her, Ranger. That girl is special," he says.

"Yes, sir," I say, and we end the call shortly thereafter.

I'm a man who uses action to control my emotions and remain calm. These calls already have me feeling more even.

I send a message to Tank instructing him to visit Steph's parents and retrieve Rex and any other property. I let him know of the work Joe Juniak will be doing on our behalf so he can monitor the situation in Trenton more closely. If the cops trace the shutdown of the betting operation and any consequences to the participants back to me, my men could have a more difficult working situation when they encounter certain members of the Trenton PD. For their safety, every Rangeman employee in the field needs to be aware of that in the conduct of their jobs.

I send an additional message to Hector ordering him to set Steph up with an untraceable phone and new number as well as Rangeman laptop.

I sit and reflect on Steph's words in the car regarding her anxiety about going to Rangeman. In the intensity of the weekend and my internal urgency at getting her to professional care, I acted out of habit, automatically having the apartment prepared for my use. I should have stopped and considered how being in that environment would make her feel.

I have a personal home about an hour away from Rangeman. It's near the beach and closer to my family. I use it as an escape, and it's my favorite place to recover after a difficult mission. While I own other properties near all the Rangemen locations, this one is the one I would consider the Batcave, as Steph put it.

My last order of business is to text Lester, asking him to stock the beach house; that I expect to arrive with Steph in about 2-3 hours, and that he will stay in the guest room. I'm not confident Steph is mentally stable, and I don't want her alone in case something triggers her. I also know I can't maintain 24/7 vigilance on my own. I need a chance to separate myself, PT, and check in on work without worrying about her to keep my mental stability. Having Lester at the house with us will make us a stronger team.

I put the phones away when I see the corner door begin to open. I immediately stand as Steph embraces me. Stephanie's hugs are something I love about our new relationship. She rarely initiated physical contact with me before, and that she does now says more to me than her words that she loves and trusts me. I look down at her, and I can see she has been crying, but she also appears to be less strained than before.

After a short conversation, I follow Dr. Anderson into her office. She motions for me to take a seat. "How are you doing, Ranger?" she asks, deliberately open-ended. I've used previous sessions to speak at length with her about the demons I brought home from missions and about my relationships, or lack thereof. Dr. Anderson has helped me move from a place where I was closed off to everyone including Steph, Julie and the rest of my family and given me the tools to open the lines of communication between the people I value most and me. In many ways, she helped me find Carlos again after spending so much time as Ranger. My Babe doesn't know it, but she was the motivation behind the effort.

I drop my Ranger persona, sigh heavily and place my elbows on my legs. "This has been one of the worst weekends of my life, which is saying something from me. I'm thrilled Steph and I are finally together, and I'm certain we have a long future together. However, I hate the circumstances that brought us together. I'm worried about her recovery and the long-term impact her past will have on her future. She is barely eating and sleeping, and I'm very concerned about her physical health in the short-term. How do you think she is doing? How can I help her? Do you think she is suicidal?" I ask the last question in a near whisper, barely able to bring voice to my greatest fear. I can't lose her.

"You did a good thing both listening to your instincts and following her as well as bringing her here. Today was a great start for Stephanie. She is strong, and I believe the process will work for her. Based on my initial assessment, I do not think she is suicidal. I think that the longer she is in a stable, safe, loving environment, her heightened mental state will decrease and conversely sleep and appetite will improve. Your presence alone is a tremendous resource to her. I would like to see her daily for this week and then establish regular visits for the next three months," Dr. Anderson says confidently.

I process her words before continuing. "I hate the role I played in her relationship with Morelli. My job is security, and I missed the threat to the most important person in my life. I'm furious at myself and at him," I spit out, knowing I need to get this off my chest.

"It's not your fault," Dr. Anderson says, as I knew she would. Still, hearing the words helps to calm and reassure me. "You couldn't have known, and you can't assume responsibility for the wrong-doings of others. The important thing is to learn from the past but to focus on the future; which is a path Stephanie and yourself can now travel together, and you'll both benefit from one another as you do. Remember to take the time to care for yourself as you see Stephanie through this crisis. You can always call my office if you have any questions and concerns between sessions," she finishes.

"Thank you," I say, and we make the next appointment for Steph before walking back to the waiting room.

I hold out my hand to Steph as she rises. She looks exhausted but more at peace than I've seen her. I kiss the top of her head, and we turn together into the late-afternoon Florida sun.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: In honor of you guys posting more than 400 reviews (*throws confetti, popping bottles*), here are an extra 1,000 words! Woo hoo!

Again, your incredible feedback played an important role in reworking this chapter and a few to follow. I won't take every suggestion (that would spoil some of the surprises!), but you guys give me a lot to think about. Thank you!

High five to misty23y for her work as my beta. She works hard to keep this effort grammatically correct, the details consistent, and challenges the direction and pacing of the story. Please take the time to read her terrific writing as well.

* * *

 **Chapter 25**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, September 17th 1500-1900

 **Ellen POV**

I sit down heavily at the kitchen table. I spent my entire day fielding phone calls in response to Stephanie, and I know there will be more to come. I take a look at my empty glass and, as the phone starts ringing again, I pour another. It seems as though my entire life revolves around Stephanie and handling the consequences of her actions for her.

"Hello, Plum residence," I say into the receiver.

"Ellen, I just heard the news," comes the high-pitched voice of false concern. I roll my eyes. Bernadette Marino. Another so-called friend who only calls when the news is ripe.

"Hello, Bernie, how good of you to call," I say, my voice modulated with the appropriate levels of martyrdom and hospitality for someone in my position. In reality, I'm seething at Stephanie, and my anger is growing with each call from the neighborhood.

"Joseph Morelli has been seen with two other women near motels across town again. How is Stephanie taking it? Where is she? No one has seen her!" Bernie says in mock outrage.

"Stephanie is fine. She and Joseph are on an off period, but I have every confidence they will patch things up again," I say, my answer practiced and pat. I take another sip of my Jim Beam.

"But Edna has made it very clear Stephanie said the break-up is final. Do you know something your mother doesn't?" Bernie presses brazenly.

I suppress my sigh so that Bernie doesn't hear. I can't believe Stephanie called her grandmother over me. It stings more than I want to admit.

"I'm her mother, and we all know how important mother's intuition is," I say, again my answer smooth from hours of repeating it. "Oh my, I have to check on dinner. It was lovely talking to you. Please call again," I say, closure in my tone.

"You as well, dear. Goodbye," and Bernie hangs up the phone.

I hate spending all this time and energy both worried about my youngest and being angry with her for leaving me in the predicament of defending our family's honor all over town time and again. I don't know what I ever did to that girl that she insists on defying her father and I every chance she gets, beginning at age six. I thought she was finally putting her rebel ways behind her when started dating and then was briefly engaged to Joseph. Those were the happiest days of my life. I could pick up the phone, and the news I heard and shared was all good.

I don't know what Stephanie did to blow up their relationship this time. She has commitment issues, and she is going to end up alone and disgraced if she doesn't change her ways. Stephanie and Joseph have been attracted to each other since they were kids. It's clear to everyone in town they love one another, and their wedding will be the fairytale event other Burg girls will dream about for decades.

I smile to myself at my daydream. Stephanie and Joseph will make beautiful grandchildren. I know that if Stephanie would just get married and have babies, she would be happy. Becoming a mom changes a woman so that those household responsibilities that once seemed so horrible are welcomed. Stephanie will see I'm right. First, however, she needs to stop avoiding my calls and come home.

The phone rings again, and I sigh deeply before heaving myself out of the chair to answer it. I look at the caller ID and see it's Stephanie's phone. All of the anger, worry, and annoyance inside me explode.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, how dare you disappear and leave us with more of your troubles. Do you know what you've been putting poor Joseph through the past few days? He feels terrible about the way you left things with him. He is your best chance at happiness. Why do I have to have a daughter who can't settle down, get married and have babies? It's disgraceful! I expect you home and explaining yourself by dinner!" I say with a bit more force than I intended. Stephanie deserves it, though, for making me feel this way. I take a drink and nearly choke at the response I get.

"Mrs. Plum, Stephanie has asked me to contact you to assure you she is fine. She will not be present at dinner tonight or any night in the foreseeable future. She left Trenton of her own free will and had decided not to return at this time. I do not know if and when she will return. There will be a representative of my company coming by later today to collect any of her things from you. Should you need to reach Stephanie, leave a message on her number and someone will eventually contact you."

I know that voice! It's that Range somebody who wears black and likes to walk around with a scary glint in his eye silently threatening everyone. Now I'm furious. Stephanie told me she was taking a vacation. She said she'd be back. She _never_ told me she broke up with Joseph and was running away with another man. Further, Stephanie will call my mother, but then she has this outsider call me! The disrespect is incredible. "You have some nerve calling like this! I demand to speak to my daughter!" I say authoritatively.

"Stephanie is an adult, and you have no right to demand anything from her. I suggest you reconsider how you speak to her and the expectations you place on her before you attempt to contact her again," and the low voice hangs up. I stare at the phone in astonishment, and my eyes narrow. How. Dare. He. Well, if that _Ranger_ thinks he can just invite somebody over to my house, he has another thing coming.

 **Stephanie POV**

Settled in the car, I stretch out in the seat, appreciating the peaceful ride with my eyes closed. This first session has drained my energy reserves, already depleted from the weekend and my lack of appetite. "Do you have a preference for dinner?" Carlos asks me.

"No," I mumble. "You choose. I did say I would try again." I find my mind wandering to how this evening is going to go. Just as my anxiety was beginning to return about our living situation, Carlos interrupts my thoughts.

"Babe, I want to talk with you about where we will stay while we are in Miami. I'm sorry I didn't ask you before making arrangements. I went through my preparations automatically. As an alternative to staying at my Rangeman apartment, would you prefer staying at my home?" Carlos questions me.

My eyes fly open, and I sit up. The man and his ESP! "You want to take me to the Miami Batcave?" I exclaim in astonishment. I watch mesmerized as Ranger breaks into a 1000-watt smile.

"Yes, Babe," he says, reaching for my hand. "I would like you to be the first person outside of my family to stay there with me. Lester should be stocking the house and setting things up as we speak."

I squeal with delight, "Yes! Oh, thank you! That sounds perfect," while squeezing Carlos's hand. I am intensely relieved to have privacy while I build myself back up. Carlos's consideration touches me. A few minutes later, we park on a side street in front of a small green and white awning overlooking a large window with "Maria's Café" written on it. It is picturesque with two wrought-iron circular tables set for two out front, and a small row of tables adorned with small vases each holding a single brightly colored flower lining the inside wall.

Carlos places his hand on my back as he guides me inside. We seat ourselves at a corner table as a beautiful, petite Cuban woman hands up menus and two glasses of water. "Hola," she greets us warmly. I relax in the easy comfort of this quiet restaurant.

I glance at the menu, but it's an unfamiliar cuisine with descriptions written in Spanish. I place it back down on the table, saying, "Please order for me. I trust you." Carlos smiles at me again, and I might let him order all my food if that's what his reaction is going to be. Carlos is a handsome man, but when he smiles, he transforms into someone other-worldly. I'm tempted to pinch myself to see if I've imaged this moment. When the waitress returns he orders for the both of us, and I see her eyes trying to undress the man in front of me.

"How did your session go?" he asks me, truly concerned for my well-being. I feel no judgment, and I open up without reservation.

"It was good," I say. "This was the right decision. There is something transformational about saying the words out loud, and I feel as though they have lost some of their power over me." I reach across the table and take Carlos's hand, my eyes warmly gazing into his. "She gave me some homework. I'm to write a statement of intentions. I'm not sure what that will look like when I finish, but I would appreciate a pad of paper or the use of a laptop." Carlos nods, and I know he'll have supplies available.

"Dr. Anderson also gave me an exercise to do if I am stuck in a flashback or if I feel overwhelmed. I hope I won't need it, but given how the past few months have gone, I'm glad I have a tool in my toolbox, as she put it." I pause, reflecting on the session. "I like Dr. Anderson. Thank you for setting everything up," I finish telling Carlos, feeling my words are inadequate to express how grateful I am for his intervention.

"Yes, Babe, she is excellent. Over the past couple of years, my government missions were beginning to take their toll, and I found myself increasingly closed off to people. Then I met you, and I wanted to change. She helped me to open up, heal, and be ready for someday with you," Carlos says, looking intently at me.

I feel my eyes begin to water, and I'm awash in affection for this man before me. "I love you," I say in a shaky voice. "This isn't the start either one of us imagined for a relationship together, but that it brought us together makes the battle worth fighting. I am committed to the process of healing, becoming stronger and living our someday together." The words come out husky with emotion.

" _Querida, te queiro. Algún día contigo vale la pena pasar por cada dolor y lucha. Haré lo que sea necesario para nunca perderte,"_ Carlos softly replies. "My dear, I love you. Someday with you is worth going through every pain and struggle. I will do whatever it takes to never lose you." He leans across the table and kisses me lightly.

A few minutes later our food arrives. It smells amazing. I have a bowl of black bean soup, and it's surprisingly light and refreshing with a hint of lime. I eat several bites and blush when I see Carlos staring at me with the corners of his mouth turned up. I must have been showing my appreciation out loud again. There is also a plate of pork, a yellow rice mixture and what looks like a fried banana. I sample everything, and I'm delighted by the mix of citrus and spice. I look up at Carlos and see he has a white fish with a fruit relish and similar sides. "Tell me about my dinner! This is fabulous," I say with a smile.

He returns my smile while pointing my plate saying, "This is _frijoles negros_ , a black bean soup, and this is _lechon asada_ , a Cuban specialty. The pork is marinated for at least six hours before being slowly roasted. Those are fried plantains. I'm eating _filete de piscado_ , which in this case is mahi-mahi prepared with a Cuban spice blend and pineapple relish."

I nod in acknowledgment and ask, "May I?" before trying a bite of Carlos's fish. Much like the colorful landscape of Miami, the food here tastes vibrant and fresh. It's so very unlike the Burg, and I find my appetite returning. I eat about half my plate before my stomach is bursting at the seams, but I ask for a box to take the remainder home. I not only love the food, but I love that Carlos chose a Cuban restaurant. I sincerely appreciate this opportunity to experience more of his life and culture outside the lens of Trenton.

As our server clears our plates and brings the check, Carlos takes my hand across the table. "Babe, I intend to honor your request and keep you informed of everything I do on your behalf as well as tell you any updates or news I receive. If you are never up to receiving the information, let me know, and the discussion can be tabled until you are ready. Otherwise, I will err on the side of letting you know rather than keeping silent until another time," he says, his eyes never leaving me.

"Yes, thank you. I appreciate that," I say, nodding my head.

"While you were in your session, I spoke with your mother. The conversation was brief, but I assured her of your safety. Tank and Bobby will be going over there this evening to retrieve Rex," Carlos says, then pauses, a grimace briefly crossing his face. "She thought I was you at first, and I found her greeting unacceptably harsh. I told her to reconsider her attitude and expectations. I hope you don't mind," he says with a slight chagrin, and Carlos' deep brown eyes are studying my reaction.

My eyes grow big. Carlos defended me to my mother? No one stands up to my mother. "You, she, wow," I stutter. I blink rapidly, shaking my head slightly to clear the astonishment. "Yes, thank you," I finish with marvel in my voice. I squeeze Carlos' hand and give him a slight smile to show my appreciation.

"I also spoke with Juniak. I did not give him many details, but he will use his connections to investigate the betting at the station and ensure a missing persons report is not filed," Carlos says straightforwardly.

I never considered using my Godfather as a resource before as I see our relationship from an uncle-niece familiar perspective. It is ingenious on Rangers part as it protects Rangeman from being directly involved and solves the problem. "Good, thank you again. I appreciate your discretion," I say, giving his hand a squeeze this time.

Carlos pays the bill, and we settle back into the car. As we drive, I look around my surroundings with renewed interest, knowing we are on our way to the Batcave. But with a fuller stomach than I have had in months, long-term sleep deprivation, and emotional exhaustion from the weekend, the soothing lull of a car filled with the scent of Carlos has me drifting off in spite of myself. My eyes close with my hand clutched in Carlos's and a slight smile on my face.

 **Ranger POV**

I was worried Steph might find new cuisine overwhelming on a day so filled with new things that it might have prevented her from eating at all. I took a risk bringing us to Maria's, and I'm happy I did. The café is one of my favorite places, and I've been going there since I was a teen. It's my version of comfort food. I'm thrilled my Babe loves it as much as I do.

I turn and drive across an expansive bridge towards Miami Beach. My home is on a peninsula on the west side of the island and faces the Miami skyline opposite the bay. It's near the wealthy clientele Rangeman serves and the busy commercial areas of South Beach and adjacent villages, but it is private enough to give me peace and security. The sun is just beginning to set over the skyline as I fob open the security gate and drive into the four-car garage.

Lester meets me at the door, his eyes cutting over to Steph's sleeping form in the car. With unspoken communication, he holds the door open and turns down the master bed. He steps out as I lay Steph down, removing her shoes and pants before tucking her in. She doesn't even stir. I kiss her head and leave with the door cracked open.

The home is a renovated single-story 1951 ranch. I walk down the hall to the Great Room. It's an expansive space that serves as the dining room on the east end with the living room nearest a single wall of windows. Those windows slide open into a walkout patio and pool deck area that extends to the water's edge. With the lights off, the orange and pink glow of the sunset illuminates the room. I walk to the wet bar in one corner, pour myself a shot of rum over ice and stand facing the bay, my shoulders sagging in my exhaustion.

I hear Lester returning from the car and dropping our possessions at various locations in the house. I take a sip of my drink, again grateful he is here. He pauses at the opening between the kitchen and dining room before walking up behind me and placing a hand on my shoulder, patiently waiting for me to explain. I finish my drink and turn to set it down on the coffee table before sinking into the black leather couch. Lester sits in the corner chair facing me, his body tense and waiting.

"Steph isn't okay, but she will be," I finally say. "Bobby arranged for her to meet with Dr. Anderson today, and she will be daily this week, minimally once a week after. I expect we will remain here in Miami for at least three months."

Lester's eyes widen in recognition of Dr. Anderson's name and the length of time for treatment. He has also spent some time in her chair.

"What the hell happened to Beautiful?" he says, his voice low. "I need to know something because my imagination is capable of too much."

I sigh again, uncharacteristically, and Lester's body tenses further. "Morelli, her mom, the entire fucking Burg, that's what," I spit out, losing some of my control and needing a moment with my cousin, not my employee. Lester has always excelled at recognizing the difference. He skirts the line sometimes with his jokes and sarcasm, but it keeps me humble and sharp. Tank, Bobby and himself are the three brothers I trust most in this world.

"I'm guessing Steph is going to open up to you at some point here soon, and it's too much to go into the whole story right now. The short version is her mother has been verbally abusing her most of her life while defending and enabling Morelli to do the same, knowing full well he molested her as a six-year-old and raped her at sixteen. Then, when Steph confronted Morelli about a long-term betting scheme he has against her on Thursday night, he attempted to rape her again. You were right when you thought something was off when she left town. We had no idea how much things had spiraled out of control for her. There's more, and I don't think she has ever really dealt with any of it. I suspect she has PTSD, and while Dr. Anderson doesn't think she is suicidal, she has barely slept or eaten in months."

I pause, running my hands through my hair and lace my fingers around the back of my neck. Lester is on his feet and pacing the floor behind his chair. "I'm so fucking angry about all of it, and I've set a few things in motion to right a whole litany of wrongs. We certainly have more work ahead of us. I can't believe I missed all of this going on in the life of one of our own, especially Steph." I look up and stare across the bay at the last rays of the day's sun glittering on the water. "Somehow, in the middle of this boondoggle, Steph has decided to trust us and love me," I finish more evenly.

Lester stops his pacing and is staring at me. "Holy fuck, Ranger!" he exclaims. I meet his eyes, purse my lips together and nod in agreement. We are about to say more when a scream shoots down the hallway.


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Here's a Saturday morning treat! All of your comments continue to fuel my passion for this project. My beta and I recently discussed a way to rework several sections of already written material for the better, and I'm excited to share it with you in the coming weeks. YOU are the reason for the effort and thank you for making me a better writer.

Hats off to misty23y for her work as my beta. _Metamorphosis_ is a great story. I hope you can check it out.

* * *

 **Chapter 26**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, September 17th 1800-2300

 **Lester POV**

I'm leaning against the kitchen island wondering what's waiting for me when I hear Ranger pull into the garage. It's been a couple of months since I've seen Beautiful, but damn. She looks rough, and that's not easy to do asleep. Ranger looks like he does at the end of a tough mission, but he's more expressive than he would usually be. I think that's the most shocking. That I can easily see his worry, concern, and fatigue makes me especially glad I decided to come down here.

I make myself useful and scarce as Ranger tucks Steph into bed by unloading the car. Walking into the back of the house, I pause in the dining room. The dark silhouette of my cousin, drink in hand, staring out the wall of windows is a striking image. I know he'll talk when he's ready, and I place my hand on his shoulder in solidarity.

When he does finally start talking, it's not what I expected. Dr. Anderson is one of the country's foremost experts in trauma counseling and PTSD. I owe her expertise to my ability to compartmentalize, heal and move forward with my own life and work. _Why does Steph need to see Dr. Anderson?_

"What the hell happened to Beautiful?" I say. "I need to know something because my imagination is capable of too much."

I tense as Ranger sighs, and when he finally opens up, I'm on my feet pacing. It's the only way I can control my growing anger. I never liked that damn cop, and I don't know much about Steph's mother, but holy hell. It's barely sinking in that Steph has been living with abuse and sexual assault since she was _six years old._ Morelli molested her as a child, and he raped her at sixteen. After the fact, he knew he wouldn't face any consequences for his actions and brazenly wrote about it around town before engaging in a damn bet with who knows how many people. This explains what Tank is up to back in Trenton. Everything Ranger is telling me is frankly hard to wrap my head around.

The thing that kills me is that Morelli tried it again, and Steph narrowly escaped. I can only imagine what Beautiful must be going through right now. I'm extremely glad I pushed Ranger to go after her, and that he finally opened up to Steph. She's given so much to all of us. It's time we started to give back to her.

My cousin is trying not to beat himself up as his obvious love for Steph is causing him to assume more guilt than he should. I've never wanted to kill someone as much as I do right now. How dare Morelli fuck with two of my own! Ranger controls his anger with action, and whatever he has set in motion, I'm all in to help with more. Retribution Rangeman-style is an art form ending with heads rolling.

I'm just about to start asking questions when Steph screams. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Ranger is in their bedroom two seconds later with me a half step behind. I pause in the hallway where I can see through the door into the room. I quickly look to see if there is an external danger, finding none. My eyes land again on the bed. Beautiful is sitting against the corned edge of the mattress nearest the headboard with legs tucked to her chest and wild eyes. My cousin is kneeling in front of her, speaking softly in Spanish. She blinks twice rapidly before placing her hands on Ranger's shoulders. I can see she is calming and beginning to accept her surroundings. I'm guessing she had a nightmare and waking up in a new environment scared her. Ranger mentioned she wasn't sleeping. I wonder how often this happens.

I return to the living room to wait. It's obvious my role here will be to offer support, stability, and strength to both of my friends, but especially to Ranger. He needs my back up so he can help Steph.

 **Stephanie POV**

I wake with a start; my heart is pounding out of my chest, and my breathing is shallow. I blink, and I see Joe standing before me in a TPD t-shirt and low slung jeans. He has a half-cocked smile, but his eyes are flat. Joe leans over me, his hands on either side of my head. "Cupcake, the boys have missed you," Morelli says in a low voice, staring directly into my eyes.

I scream in terror as reality and the dream blend. I'm no longer sure what's real and what isn't as the haunting images of my dream continue to play out in the unfamiliar room. I distantly register the sound of my fright, and the visions fade away, leaving me cowering. I hate myself for screaming, but it came unbidden, an automatic reaction to fear. I shut my eyes hard, trying to erase Joe from my mind. When I open them again, Carlos is before me. I stare at him and remember Dr. Anderson's words.

I place my hands on Carlos's shoulders and look into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, I concentrate. I speak softly, "I taste a hint of lime." I inhale through my nose, processing the information. "I smell Bulgari and Carlos. I feel the soft sheets, a light breeze from the ventilation and the hardness of your shoulders," I continue, drawing Carlos into my thought processes. "I hear your breath, the whoosh of the overhead fan blades, footsteps from the hall and water from beyond the window. I see white sheets, a black iron bed frame, a French door leading to a veranda, and you," I finish. I take another cleansing breath, and the fear evaporates. I gently lean forward, encircle my arms around Carlos's warm body and place my head on his shoulder. He returns my embrace. "I love you," I whisper.

" _Querida, te queiro,"_ he replies. I smile slightly as I pull back.

I take another look around the room, my smile broadening. "We're in the Batcave!" I exclaim. "This is the Bat-bedroom!" I stand and wander around, soaking in everything. My eyes land on a doorway leading to the attached bathroom. I step inside, turning on a light and gasp in delight. The floor, shower and adjacent walls, as well as countertops, are finished with large slabs of a beautiful white marble streaked with large swirls of gold and grey. The cabinetry is a shining black. The shower itself is larger than the bathroom in my apartment, and there is a large adjacent standalone tub. On one end is a separate toilet room and the other opening leads to a walk-in closet bigger than my bedroom. The closet has a creamy carpet, and wrapped around the walls are walnut paneled shelves, drawers, and cupboards. There is a center white island with a plush bench on one side. The lighting is soft and tracks over each wall. It's stunning.

I turn back to Carlos with my eyes wide. "Your home is amazing," I say. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

He steps within inches in front of me, his hands on my waist, our foreheads touching. "I'd like to consider it our home," he says. I smile widely and kiss him. Yes, this place filled with the personal touches of Carlos already feels like more of a home than any I have known.

"I'll step outside to the hallway to give you a moment," he says. "Lester is waiting to say hello." I smile again, grateful for his consideration. I spy my bag on the closet island and take out a few toiletries. My toothbrush, face wash, and comb do their wonderful work. I pull my pants back on and exit the bedroom.

Carlos is waiting, and I take his outstretched hand. The home is modern, in a minimalist style with shades of white with black and metallic accents throughout. My jaw drops as we walk into the main room. My head swivels to the left. The entire back wall is glass, and the view of the lit-up Miami skyline at night reflecting in the calm, dark Atlantic waters is incredible. My eyes sweep the room. The floors are a creamy tile, and the walls are white. There is a gas fireplace in one corner nearest the windowed wall and a wet bar opposite. The centered seating area features sleek but comfortable looking black couches with opposing chairs centered on a beige shag rug with a smooth brown coffee table made of reclaimed wood between them. There are several vibrant paintings on the walls showing scenes of what I assume is Cuban culture.

Looking to the right, I see a glass dining table for twelve surrounded by dark wood chairs with black leather seats. There is a buffet centered on the far wall behind it. Adjacent is a doorway leading to what I determine is the kitchen, and on the far end is another hallway leading to additional rooms.

I turn my attention back to the living room as Lester stands and quickly walks towards me. He lifts me off my feet in a big bear hug, saying, "Beautiful!" I tense slightly in spite of myself. I take a deep breath to relax my muscles and smile at Lester as he sets me down again.

Lester raises one eyebrow at me and shakes a finger, "You didn't think you could go on a road trip without me," he admonishes in a joking tone. "Especially not to my hometown!" I giggle, and we move to sit down. The conversation is light, comfortable, and we talk about nothing. It's perfect. I'm really glad Lester is here.

I stand, walk over the patio doors, and step outside in my bare feet. The night air is crisp and has a delightful hint of salt. I wrap my arms over each other and begin to wander. The veranda extends the entire length of the house and out to the water's edge. It is a sandy swirled stone tile that steps down and finishes with a sharp edge lined with lights and cleats for a boat mooring. Below the initial walkout is a pool with a separate hot tub. Several cream-padded lounge chairs rest under umbrellas. The sides of the property are lined with dense and exotic plants; palm trees big and small, ferns, and large colorful flowers I can't give a name to disappear into the night. I will investigate further tomorrow.

I feel Carlos's arms wrap around me from behind. I rest my head back on his chest and give a moan of contentment. "It's perfect, Carlos." He kisses me below my ear, and I shiver again, but this time from delight and not the breeze. We stand another moment before a yawn escapes.

We turn into the house, and not seeing Lester; I assume he has already gone to bed. Carlos secures the home for the night as I make my way back to the bedroom. I turn on the shower before shedding my clothes. I turn and see Carlos leaning against the door. "I like you in my bathroom, Babe," he says with a smile. I blush and return the smile before opening the glass door.

"I'd like you in my shower," I say in return. Carlos joins me quickly. Applying a generous amount of Bulgari to a loofah, I slowly lather his body, appreciating the perfection of his form. I lean up to kiss him, my tongue flickering between his lips. He takes the loofah from my hands and returns the gentle wash in kind. We both know it won't go further than this tonight, but the open intimacy between us creates sparks of heat, love and a promise of a better tomorrow.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: I've read several comments requesting some action, and I hope this chapter satisfies some of that need. I'm going to be weaving Trenton and Miami together more as this story progresses. Thank you, thank you for your reviews and comments. This chapter is a great example of your influence, both in terms of ideas but also motivation to return to previously written sections to make them better.

Hats off to misty23y for her work as my beta. In addition to helping me, her current story, _Metamorphosis,_ is terrific. It's sexy, personal, action-filled, and has great original characters.

* * *

 **Chapter 27**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, September 17th 1800-2200

 **Tank POV**

I'm driving in my Rangeman black Ford Explorer with Bobby in the passenger seat. We are on our way to the Plum residence to retrieve Steph's property, including Rex. Getting her stuff from the Plum residence should be a simple task, but since Little Girl's family is involved, I put my Kevlar and body camera on before departing. As I drive, I think back on the last couple of days.

Ranger is my best friend, and he always will be. He has intelligence, drive, raw ability, and an unparalleled work ethic, and he's loyal to a fault. He can also be a complete idiot, especially where his heart is concerned. I've silently pushed him for years to pull the trigger on Stephanie, but I understand why he hesitated to do so.

Ranger takes the responsibility of leadership more seriously than most, and, while on active duty, he took the deaths of any soldier under his command to heart. It didn't matter to him that our unit had the fewest losses in the history of the Rangers. It didn't matter if a casualty was utterly unpreventable. Ranger additionally carried the weight of any civilian casualties. Again, it didn't matter if we had the best record. The more time we spent in the field and, later, the more contract missions he took, it seemed like a little less of Carlos came home each time.

Lester, Bobby and I staged an intervention a few years ago when Ranger returned home after six months overseas, and we couldn't reach the human side of him. Ranger was a machine and completely closed off to the world. We expected him to fight us, either with words or on the mats. Nothing. He listened to us with that damned blank face, stood and left for three days. We were frantic trying to find him, praying Ranger didn't commit suicide.

Ranger showed up in his office on the fourth day, acting as though nothing had happened. The next week, Connie called him, asking for a favor. That was when Stephanie came into our lives. Stephanie brought Ranger back to life. I firmly believe she is the reason Carlos exists. It was after he and Steph slept together the first time that Ranger began secretly seeing Dr. Anderson. That woman is a God-send, and if she could help save Carlos from Ranger, I know she can save Little Girl from her demons.

Steph, doing nothing more than being herself, brought Ranger back from the living dead. That Steph then began to spread her light to our entire office is a testament to her character. Rangeman typically hires people with combat experience, and we have safeguards in place to prevent or identify employees at risk for a variety of mental health issues. Rangeman Trenton had the highest level of incidents before Steph's employment at our office. Within three months, it was the lowest. It's why I call her Little Girl, a term of endearment meant to indicate I see her under my protection as a member of my family. The entire Core Team and most of Rangeman Trenton sees her as a sister we love, and we would do anything for her.

The past three months I noticed a change in Steph. She became withdrawn and skinnier, but what bothered me most is that every time I saw her eyes, they looked darker, as though something extinguished her light. At first, I thought it was due to that stupid love triangle she's in with Morelli and Ranger. I tend to be someone who quietly observes for a long time before taking action, and I especially don't want to be vocally involved in Ranger's love life. Enough was enough, however, and I planned to talk to Ranger about Beautiful the Friday Steph took off. Too little too late.

When Ranger finally called Sunday with an update on Steph, I was unprepared for his report. I never liked Morelli. I despise the way he berates Steph, and if that's the way he treats her in public, I wondered what it was like in private. Finding out that he _raped_ her and is continuing to threaten her had me seeing red.

When I hung up the phone with Ranger, I went down to the basement gun range and fired a half-dozen boxes of .45 caliber ammo. Each of us has a way we think. Ranger runs, Lester lifts weights, Bobby studies, and I shoot. An hour later, I was under control and ready to execute the tasks Ranger gave me. I strode confidently to my office, not surprised to see Bobby sitting in a chair, scrutinizing information on his computer screen and Lester pacing the floor.

I had called Rodriguez to come into the office before I went down to the range, and I summoned him into my office now. "You have a new priority task, and overtime is authorized," I ordered as soon as he stopped in front of my desk. "This is confidential. No one outside of this room is to know you are conducting the investigation I am about to give you. Do you understand?"

Rodriguez rigidly stood before me in full military bearing. "Yes, sir," he barked back. I nodded at Lester, and he closed the door.

"Recent intel revealed there is a long-standing bet in the Burg against Stephanie; it's likely been around since she was sixteen, but I can't confirm that. The terms center around whether or not she marries Morelli. The pot is in the thousands. Find out everything; banking information, key players, anyone who has contributed to the bet, details on terms, and anything else you can think of. Be thorough and expedient. Use any resources necessary. A source is Michael Bruno, but he may not talk freely. I also need a separate investigation into Morelli. I want to know everything there is to know about his life," I said with authority.

"Yes, sir," Rodriguez firmly replied in acknowledgment. I excused him, and when the door closes behind him, Bobby is on his feet beside Lester.

"Ranger called me, too. He said to receive marching orders from you," Bobby said, his eyes steely.

"We are beginning surveillance on Morelli, and in addition to the investigations given to Rodriguez, Bobby and I are foot soldiers in removing and documenting slander against Stephanie from men's restrooms in the Burg," I say straightforwardly. I deliberately leave out any mention of sexual violence against Little Girl. I know they will both figure it out, but I won't go against Ranger's orders. He can talk to them. As I spoke, I saw Bobby's jaw set. Bobby is the calmest of us, but I know better. The good doctor is also one of the most lethal people I know.

"I'm going to Miami tomorrow, wheels up at 0500. I'll set up a surveillance schedule before I leave, and I'll ensure the watch rotation starts tonight," Lester stated, his face hard. I nodded once, and Lester strode from the room.

Bobby and I went to the conference room and pulled up a large-scale, detailed map of the Burg and carefully compiled a list of every public men's restroom. Bobby and I began canvassing the Burg that evening. When we found the first message, I lost my temper and punched a hole through the stall door. By the third, I was plotting Morelli's death in vivid detail.

I stop the truck in front of the duplex and turn off the engine. I nod my head at Bobby, and we march to the front door. I took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. _Ding_. The door swings open violently. _Dong._

Ellen Plum stands before us on the threshold. She's a slight woman, wearing a floral printed housedress and an apron wrapped around her waist as though she stepped out of a 1950s sitcom. However, instead of greeting us cordially as custom would demand, I can see Ellen attempting to make herself look larger as she prepares to issue a tongue lashing. I cut her off before she begins.

"Mrs. Plum, my name is Tank, and this is my colleague Dr. Brown. Ranger contacted you earlier today indicating we would be coming over to collect Stephanie's property, including Rex. Would you prefer us to come inside and gather the items ourselves, or would you like to bring it to us?" I say with neutral professionalism.

As I speak, Ellen's face becomes redder and redder, her eyes flashing. I look beyond her into the living room. Frank Plum is sitting in his recliner, staring unwaveringly at the television. Edna Mazur is tiptoeing down the hallway towards the backdoor in bright red high-top Air Jordan sneakers.

"Where is Stephanie?" Ellen wails loudly, flailing her arms and attempting to cry. "Where is my daughter? What have you done with her? Please, we love her, and we want Stephanie home again!"

I stand there stoically a moment as I take in the hysterical woman before me. "Based on the history I know of your relationship with Stephanie as well as my personal observations, including this interaction, I very much doubt you love your daughter. She left the Burg of her own volition, and we are directed to secure her property. Are we coming in, or are you bringing it to us?" I reply, struggling to keep my intonation neutral.

I want nothing more than to force my way in, grab Rex and leave. However, that would only add fuel to Ellen's fire. Rangeman is successful in what we do because while we are the best at using force when necessary, our actions are always above reproach. There are a lot of people in this community who would love nothing more than to see Ranger fail. That people such as Morelli can't find anything illegitimate on us is a testament to the company and Ranger's leadership.

"No, you may not come in! I'm calling the police. Detective Morelli will hear about this outrage. He's leading the investigation into my daughter's kidnapping, and this attempted breaking and entering will make you prime suspects, I'm sure!" Ellen screams at us before slamming the door in our faces.

Bobby and I take a step back and look at each other in disbelief. We are about to go back to the truck to regroup, when I hear someone whisper, "Pssst, over here," from the bushes at the front corner of the house. We stride over, and a wrinkled hand reaches out and grabs my ankle. "Get down! I thought you guys knew how to be clandestine," chastises Edna Mazur.

Bobby and I slip into the shadows beside the house. "I can be your spy on the inside," Edna declares. "I'll help you get Rex out. We can be a team. First things first, we need a nifty name for our mission. Hmmm… I know," she muses before snapping her fingers. "Operation Rex Rescue. We also need code names. You can be Mr. T," Edna whispers conspiratorially, pointing at me. "You're Shooter on account your initials are BB, like the gun," she continues, pointing at Bobby. "I'll be Bond."

I sigh. _Anything to get us out of here faster_ , I think. I can feel Bobby suppressing laughter beside me. "I told Ellen I was taking out the trash," Edna continues. "When I go back inside, I'll casually head upstairs to my room. Stephanie used to use the bathroom window like a backdoor, so I'm thinking you two strapping men can get up there just fine. I'll be there with Rex. Wait until I give the signal to let you know the coast is clear. I'll turn on the light and then lower and raise the blind three times before turning off the light with a series of two fast and one slow flicker. Let's move out, men!" Edna finishes, raising her right hand in a series of squad movement signals she must have learned from a rerun of M*A*S*H*.

"Yes, ma'am," I say as Steph's grandmother begins a long-stride tip-toe with her back against the side of the house to return to the back door. I mentally concede the plan could work, and it's better than coming back for Rex another day.

"We better go take our positions to commence Operation Rex Rescue," Bobby says quietly, though his shoulders are shaking from silent laughter. "Wouldn't want to miss the signal, Mr. T."

"We rock, paper, scissors to determine who has to climb the roof, BB. On three, shoot," I reply. I lose. _Damn._ I didn't wear my cup.

We move to the corner of the postage stamp sized yard and, a minute later, I observe Edna enter the bathroom with Rex and a paper bag. I cross the yard in two steps, jump to grip the roof edge and pull myself into a crouched position outside the window. Bobby is standing below me.

"I never suspected you were part ninja," Edna croons at me. "Are you a ninja?"

"No, ma'am, I'm not," I say, taking the bag and turning to pass it down to Bobby. I grimace as a hand grazes my left butt cheek. I quickly return to facing the window. Almost done. I reach in and take Rex's aquarium then stand to carefully trek across the sill towards the corner where the roof levels off again, not wanting to risk any injury to Rex. I pass the still open window as I do.

"Mission accomplished," Edna announces as her hands reach through the window and onto me. Ranger doesn't pay me enough for this. Only for Little Girl.

 **Morelli POV**

I crack open another beer and sit down on my couch. What a fucking disaster this weekend has turned out to be. I was so close to getting Cupcake to agree to marry me, and then a couple of months ago she started acting like an ice queen. She froze me out of the bedroom, and now she's freezing me out of her life. Where the fuck did she go? On top of it, word on the street is Manoso is out of town too. I better not hear about the two of them together.

I immediately rallied by roping in Steph's mother. Ellen Plum is the epitome of Burg women, and she is excellent at applying pressure on Stephanie. Ellen wondered about the rumors of me sleeping around, but I assured her it's only idle talk. She doesn't want to know the truth. Ellen is so anxious to see Steph married off it doesn't take much to manipulate her. Between Steph's mom, the Burg gossip machine, and myself, it's only a matter of time until Cupcake runs back groveling to me again.

I'm taking another swig of beer when my phone rings. It's Big Dog. "Morelli, did you hear the news from the station?" he launches as soon as I answer.

"Whoa, Big Dog. What the hell are you talking about?" I reply in annoyance.

"The Chief is launching some big investigation into the betting against Stephanie! He's on the warpath, too. We're fucked," he says, panic at the edge of his voice.

No fucking way. First Stephanie disappears with her side piece after not putting out for me, and then she sets the Chief on us? How did she find out? This shit is not good. I pick up one of the empty bottles on the coffee table and throw it against the wall. Think, Joe, think. She's a dumb bitch who fucks up everything. You can get out of this.

"It's fine, play it cool. The Chief has nothing on us. Let's use this as an opportunity to get back at Eddie for all the times he punked us out," I say with a malicious edge to my voice.

Big Dog laughs. "You always think of everything," he says in agreement. "Talk to you in the morning."

We disconnect, and I finish my beer. I can fix this inconvenience at work to my advantage, but I need to teach Stephanie a lesson first. I won't tolerate this behavior from her. I start by calling Steph. Voicemail, again. Damn woman needs to stop fucking Manoso and return a phone call. I leave a message before calling Mooch. "Hey, I got something I need your help with," I start, a smile forming on my face.


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: As best as I can track the data, this story seems to have around a thousand loyal readers in 20 countries. If I could thank each of you individually, I would, but instead, please consider this a personal moment of gratitude. I love writing this story, and I'm so grateful you're enjoying it with me.

I'm going to post a little more in the first half of this week as it may take me longer than usual the second half. However, I promise a bonus chapter when we reach 500 reviews! As the story progresses, I expect some of the chapters to become a bit longer, but not always. I don't think you mind too much, right?

I'm going to say it every time – big thanks to misty23y for her work as my beta. She offers great support to me as I write, and this chapter, especially Morelli's POV was definitely a collaborative effort. She's so lovely when she helps me write evil.

* * *

 **Chapter 28**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, September 17th, 2200 - Tuesday, September 18th, 1200

 **Stephanie POV**

I lay in bed to fall asleep for the night and wrap myself around Carlos, my head over his shoulder, my leg over his, my arm draped over his waist. Resting in this room, next to the man I love and trust, I begin to feel as though I can welcome sleep as a friend again. While living in my ridiculously unsafe apartment, I think I became used to a heightened sense of vigilance and stress. In this newfound serenity of my current environment, I'm struggling to understand why I kept that place all this time.

"Carlos," I say quietly, testing to see if he is awake.

"Babe?" comes his reply.

"This is going to be a strange request, but would you please tell me about the security measures of your home?" I ask. I'm coming from a place of curiosity but also a need to give the demons of my mind no reason to rear their ugly heads.

Carlos pauses briefly, and I think he's trying to figure me out. Then, he humors me and doesn't press me for all the reasons why.

"To start, the property is monitored 24/7 by Rangeman. The gate and sidewalls are reinforced to withstand at 70 mph direct hit by a two-ton truck. The gate can only be opened by a secure electronic signal or via biometrics at a hidden access panel. There are cameras inside and out, visible and not, that monitor all access points. Infrared signals are in the doors and windows. All windows are bulletproof, and the doors are made of reinforced steel. There are underwater sensors and cameras to monitor for a waterborne threat. There is a hidden panic room located within my office as well as an armory. The home has a stand-alone secondary generator in case of power loss. I designed the lighting specifically with safety in mind, and additional lights can be turned on and directed as needed. These are the passive measures. I also have various active systems that have control panels in the armory, my office, or the panic room, and offsite."

He speaks in a straightforward fashion, and I find the pragmatic approach lulling me to sleep. With visions of safety looming at the forefront of my brain, I drift to sleep mumbling, "And there's you."

As has become a frequent occurrence in my life, my sleep is abruptly interrupted by the terrors of the night. I jerk awake with my heart pounding to the lingering grips of fear, but instead of falling into the panic, I take a deep breath and remind myself of my surroundings. _I'm safe; I'm strong._ I snuggle into Carlos, and he wraps his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. Words aren't needed. I might not be able to control how I feel, I think while falling asleep again, but I can work to control how I react to it.

 **Ranger POV**

I'm awake at 0500 but wait until 0630 to slide carefully out of bed, not wanting to wake Steph. Army habits die hard. It's great my Babe is finally sleeping, and I'm again glad I took her here. I step into the wardrobe room to change and realize I left Steph's phone in yesterday's pants. I take it to my office and settle into my desk. Better to listen to it now and then hit the gym.

Twenty-five fucking messages, forty-one missed calls and pages of texts. What the fuck? No one should be this inundated when shit happens in their life. I feel my body tense as I press play and rely on my famous self-control at the sound of Morelli, Ellen Plum, and various Burg voices.

I pull up Tank's latest surveillance reports on Morelli as I listen. The Burg's gossip is fairly accurate. Morelli was seen at the same motel in Pennsylvania with Terry Gillman again sometime around midday. Steph's mom isn't accepting she left town freely and continues to fault Steph for not being with Morelli, and the bastard himself repeatedly feels the need between his booty calls to simultaneously cajole and threaten Steph. It would seem, however, that he and Steph's mom are no longer pursuing a missing person report. Let's hear it for small victories. Ah, Ellen was also displeased Tank "forced" himself into her home to "petnap" Rex. I'll have to give him a bonus this month.

The last message catches my attention.

 _ **Monday, September 17**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 9:42 pm:**_ _"Cupcake, why the fuck is the Chief starting an investigation into betting at the police station? I better not find out you have anything to do with this. It's a low, cheap shot, and you are going to destroy the lives of good men. Do you want that on your conscience? How much is a fuck with the thug worth to you? I'd like to remind you that he'll dump your ass the next minute just like everyone else. I'm the only one who's waiting around for you, and even I'm not sure why when you pull a stunt like this. You better call me up, apologize, and come home if you know what's good for you."_

My jaw clenches, and I forward the message to Tank. It would seem that Juniak kept his word. Now it's up to Rangeman to monitor the fallout. Glancing at my watch, I find it's 0745. Not only is the Burg ridiculous, but it's also time-consuming. I make my way to the gym, and I'm not surprised to see Lester doing his cool-down on the treadmill. I stretch before putting on my boxing gloves. I have a bag and a large mat in the corner, and I unleash hell. I lose track of time, taking out every bit of rage I have on that bag. Lester makes his way over and holds it for me, increasing the challenge. It's nearing nine when I quit, throwing down my gloves.

As I do so, Lester asks, "Want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "Clean up and wait in the kitchen for Steph to wake up. I'm going to do a cooldown," I order. Lester has the sense to nod and step out instead of pushing me for a response.

 **Morelli POV**

I wake up to the phone ringing, and it's the station ordering me to report to the Chief's office at seven a.m. Christ, it's too early, and I'm too hungover for this bullshit. Last night was a late night and Mooch and I tied one on after sending a message to Cupcake. I smile at the memory. Got right past the Rangeman guard, too. They really are sa bunch of idiots.

I have no idea why I'm being hauled into the station. I've been closing my cases without incident, and I have not been seen with Terry since we started to have our rendezvous over the river in Morrisville, Pennsylvania. It's inconvenient but safer, and I'm looking forward to seeing her again on Friday. Maybe I'm getting that promotion I've been after.

I stop in my office to drop off my files and ensure my desk is locked before heading up to the Chief's office, turning on my charm on his secretary Abigail. "Why Abigail, you look stunning today. Did you change your hair?"

Now I know that her hair is the same as it was the last time I was here. She never does anything different but complimenting a woman on her normal is the quickest way between her legs. Abigail has fine legs, and tits too.

"Why no, Detective Morelli, I didn't do anything different. Thank you, though." She says, blushing. "You can go straight in. Chief Kovacs is expecting you."

"Thank you," I reply politely.

I enter the Chief's office. The last time I was here was when I got reinstated after the whole Carmen fiasco. That time, Chief Kovacs was apologizing to me, regretting the way the false accusations ruined my life. I graciously accepted his apology, saying how all the evidence pointed at me anyway, that I understood where he was coming from and how he had no choice. Huh. Talk about bullshit. This time, however, the Chief is not alone. Senator Juniak is with him.

"Good morning, Senator, Chief," I say as I enter the room, shaking their hands.

"Good morning, Detective Morelli. Take a seat," the Chief requests. I sit in one of the two open seats around his conference table. Senator Juniak is seated next to the Chief.

I pour myself a cup of coffee from the tray near the table before sitting down, taking the time to assess the men before me. Everything about Chief Kovacs is average. Average build, average height, and average intellect. He's graying and balding with the beginnings of a gut. He has a permanent tan below the elbow and above the neck. Everything else peeks out pasty white and hairy. Further, the Chief isn't from the Burg, and he doesn't understand how things work here. It's curious that Senator Juniak is here, though. Maybe they want me for another undercover operation with the Mob. Everyone knows I have an in with the Grizzoli family. I know that the Senator is Steph's Godfather, and it heightens my suspicions the bitch is up to something. At least I know they've got nothing on me.

"I received information yesterday that various cops here at TPD are involved in a series of wagers against one of our citizens. It seems these bets range from whether this individual will get hurt during their course of this person's occupation, if anything will blow up around this individual, to how long it will take this person to come into TPD covered in garbage. Further, due to the wagers involved, this betting has impacted how TPD members respond to incidents regardless of established protocol. What do you know about this?" Chief asks, his green eyes boring into me.

"I'm not a hundred percent sure what you are talking about, but I had heard some rumors of friendly betting against Stephanie. No one has ever asked me to participate, nor have I ever seen money change hands before," I smoothly lie.

"That is contrary to what I've heard. From the few officers I spoke to already, it seems as if you know all about the wagers and have even participated in some of the pools. Is Stephanie aware that you are wagering on her life?" Chief Kovacs asks me.

I take a deep breath before replying, "Stephanie and I have known each other since we were kids, and of course you know she is my fiancé. I heard from her that occasionally comments were made when she brought FTAs in, but she never indicated it bothered her. I believed she saw it as typical Burg banter, a sign of her acceptance," I reply confidently.

The Chief stares at me a long time, but I don't let him affect me. I pick up my mug and take another drink of coffee, leaning back in my chair with one leg crossed above the opposite knee.

"Do you know anyone who would have a motive to create a betting scheme that endangers both Stephanie and the citizens of our community?" the Chief finally asks me.

I sit back and look like I'm contemplating my answer thoughtfully. "Yes, I do. I've noticed Rangeman has an unduly familiar relationship with members of the TPD, especially Eddie Gazarra. I believe Ranger himself is involved. He is extremely jealous of my relationship with Stephanie. He is constantly trying to break us apart. I think that Ranger would use any opportunity he could to destroy Stephanie. Gazarra was upset I received the promotion to Detective over him, and I know he would like to knock me down. I think the investigation needs to start with their collusion," I answer.

"We'll consider that, Detective," Senator Juniak says, speaking for the first time.

"Tell me more about your relationship with Ms. Plum," the Chief questions, changing tactics. "What's the Tasty Pastry incident I've heard about?" Fuck me. This is going to be a long day.

"As I said, Steph and I have been on and off again for a long time. I was her first, and it happened to be where she worked. What can I say, we were teenagers," I reply, shrugging as though that type of thing happened every day. The Chief again lets a long silence settle between us, and I'm growing impatient at the slow pace of conversation. Senator Juniak's face is becoming increasingly hostile as the interview progresses.

"How are things between you and Ms. Plum now? The last time I saw the two of you together, you were yelling at her when she was a victim at a crime scene," the Chief says suddenly, and I find myself on the defensive. I feel my palms start to sweat. I know that this conversation is not going in the right direction. I need to deflect.

"That's just how Stephanie and I are," I state immediately. "She is constantly getting into trouble because she isn't trained or equipped to do the job she finagled from her cousin Vinnie. Steph's ineptitude puts the community and TPD at risk, and I worry about her constantly putting her life in danger. She needs to understand that her actions affect many other people. I offered to help train her, to bring her to the gym to teach her self-defense, to take her to the gun range to learn how to fire a weapon, but she constantly rebuts my attempts. It is at the point where I believe the only way Stephanie will be safe is if she marries me and becomes a housewife and mother, as is her birthright."

"Is that so?" the Chief says, and I sigh.

"Chief, I had no idea the extent of the betting against Stephanie. I would never have thought that my brothers would dishonor Stephanie and me in that manner. I will immediately look into it and put a stop to it. She is the love of my life, and I would never hurt her in any way," I say earnestly.

"That isn't necessary, Detective. I already have someone investigating. I expect to have that report tomorrow afternoon," the Chief replies, his eyes never leaving me.

"Joe, when you talk to Stephanie, please let her know that I hope she's enjoying her vacation and I would like her to come over for dinner when she returns," Senator Juniak states with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. It's time for me to exit this conversation.

"No problem, Senator," I answer before leaving the office. I make sure to flirt back with Abigail before going. I need to make sure I have my ducks in a line, or should I say pussies at the ready. My boys need their stimulation. Once I get outside, I call up Kathryn Ricci. We agree to meet at our hotel at 9 pm tonight. She said she needs to leave to head back home after to take care of some business. I next call Robin. I invite her to that same hotel at 6 am. I have two rooms booked there for the next month, and it's good to fall asleep and wake up fully serviced.

It's amazing that Robin, Kathryn, and Terry each think that they are the only mistress. As if. Beside them, I have Joyce and Lula available. Joyce is fucking crazy and will do almost anything. Lula, being a former prostitute, gives the best hand jobs and blow jobs around. As much as I am enjoying fucking women, sometimes I need some head only.

I turn and go back to my office. Time to put in an appearance as the excellent Detective I am. I also need to wait for Gazarra to get called out. Someone needs to go down for this betting fiasco, and who better than Stephanie's buddy. That will definitely send a message to keep her in line in the future. One thing is true about Stephanie: She will do anything to save someone she cares about, and Eddie is the man who will turn her into my wife.

 **Stephanie POV**

The next time I awake, I'm alone in the bed and spy a note by my pillow, daylight streaming in around the cracks in the blinds.

 _I went to work out. Either Lester or I am in the house.  
Sleep as much as you can. You're cute when you sleep.  
Breakfast is in the kitchen.  
Love,  
C_

Carlos left me a love note. It's practical, thoughtful, and endearing, just like the man himself. I roll over, stretch and look at the clock. Nine am? It can't be. I slept for eleven whole hours. Carlos is good for me!

I take a trip through the heavenly bathroom and heavenly closet before wandering to the kitchen. Lester is leaning against the kitchen island eating an apple. "Good morning, Beautiful!" he says with a big smile, moving to brew a cup of coffee in the Keurig machine.

"You must be a god," I declare as the earthy smell of the blissful liquid fills the air.

"I'll be working on maintaining that status," he teases back while pulling out a small carton of cream from a drawer in the fridge. "Shhh…. It's our little secret."

"Oh, wow! Wild horses couldn't drag it out of me," I declare solemnly.

Lester hides our coffee contraband as Carlos rounds the corner, dripping wet with sweat. He's wearing shorts and a tank top, black of course, and the damp shirt clings to his body, accentuating every muscle. _Damn._

Lester laughs into his cup, while Carlos smiles broadly saying, "Babe."

"Out loud?" I question sheepishly, and Carlos kisses me. I'll have to speak my thoughts more often if this is my reward.

I decide to divert the topic. "So, who wants to go shopping with me?" I question with my most innocent face. "And where is the washing machine?"

"Leave the wash in the hamper, Babe. My housekeeper, Clara, will take care of it, returning your clothes cleaned this evening." Carlos says. "As for shopping, Lester and I will be ready to go in fifteen, as long as you have more than coffee for breakfast."

Lester groans as I smile and say, "Deal."

I dig around the fridge, finding yogurt and some fruit. Lester takes it out my hands, "Let me show you how to make this rabbit food edible," he says. In short order, he's made a yogurt parfait with the berries, and chocolate (yay!) granola sprinkled on top and drizzled with honey. It's delicious.

I eat, clean the bowl and return to the bedroom to grab my things. Carlos is just pulling his shirt on, and I walk over to him to encircle his waist, my hands traveling under his shirt. I lean up to kiss him and moan in delight when he deepens it. I look into his eyes, and I see nothing but love. I rest my head on his chest, my hands snaking up his back. "I love you," I say, relishing this moment.

" _Querida, te quiero,"_ he replies, his own arms settling around my middle. We break apart and walk together to the garage. Looking around, I see my Honda parked in the farthest stall, a black Porsche 911 Turbo beside it, and a Porsche Cayenne, black again, of course, next to that. The stall closest to the door is empty. Lester is leaning against the Cayenne.

"I don't know how you talked me into this," he says, wagging a finger at me.

"Must be my natural charm," I reply. "Or excellent taste in persuasive men," I add, looking at Carlos. He looks threateningly at Lester, making me chuckle.

"What are we shopping for, Babe?" Carlos asks as we back out onto the road.

"I only have four days' worth of clothing with me, and I didn't pack with Florida in mind," I say neutrally, not wanting to dive into the day of my departure mentally. "I also meant it when I said I wanted to start working out, and I need some shoes and clothes to do so. I know I have a reputation, per se, about the mall, but I truly don't want to spend more than a couple of hours there."

I mentally consider my bank balance. I have about $2,000 left in my savings before I'm broke. I set a budget of $400 for the day and make a mental list of the essentials.

"On a scale of Rangeman to a cardboard box, how secure is my apartment?" I ask.

Ranger raises an eyebrow, and Lester laughs, blurting out, "My six-year-old niece makes more secure box forts than your apartment."

I sigh, and I'm pretty sure Lester's description isn't an exaggeration. "Okay then. I'm going to give it up. I'll pay the early termination penalty and cancel the lease this month," I declare. I turn to look at Carlos, "Could you help me make arrangements to have my things packed up or donated?"

He reaches across to take my hand. "Of course, Babe. I'm proud of you."

I squeeze his hand in acknowledgment, and the way his fingers wrap around mine sends a shiver to my toes. "Are you interested in an update from Trenton, Babe?" Ranger asks.

I smile again at his consideration. "Yes, please," I say, looking at him openly.

"You'll be pleased to know Rex is safely ensconced at Rangeman. Tank and Bobby carried out Operation Rescue Rex and retrieved him last night, with an assist from your Grandmother. Morelli is under surveillance, and the messages he left around town are being systemically removed. An internal Rangeman investigation is being conducted into the marriage wager. Additionally, the Chief has already begun his investigation into TPD betting against you," Ranger says.

I'm pleased at the news and impressed at how quickly Carlos can set things into motion. We spend the rest of the ride with Lester regaling us with his attempt at speed dating. According to him, he was asked not to return, because none of the other male suitors received dates.

We pull into the mall parking lot, and I quickly realize it is made of higher-end stores that my budget will not allow. "Lester, could you give us a second?" I ask, and he graciously steps out of the car.

"Babe?" Carlos says, looking at me curiously.

I take a deep breath and decide to continue with the open and honest Stephanie approach. "I can't afford any of these stores," I say. "I should have been clearer with my intentions. I'm on more of a Nordstrom Rack and Target budget."

Carlos calmly replies, "But I can."

"I know, but I already feel I've taken so much from you," I counter.

" _Querida_ , I love your consideration, but you've already given much more to me and others," he says seriously.

"Huh?" I furrow my eyebrows together.

"Whenever I've ever needed anything from you, you've always given it to me, no questions asked. I also know you do the same for others. For example, I know you give Lula a take of all your captures, even though she often bails on you and places you in danger. I know you help support your Grandmother when her Social Security checks run low. I know you are much more generous regarding the percentage of income you give to others than I have ever been. I also know accepting help or money from others can be hard, but if we were to have our situation reversed, you'd do it in a heartbeat. I always said there is no price for what we do for each other. I intend to have you in my life forever. I love you, and I trust you. What's mine is yours," he says.

I'm silent a moment considering this. "Are you sure you don't feel as though I'm taking advantage of you and your resources?" I finally say. "I never want to be a burden, financial or otherwise. I was raised to be wary of the gifts from others and never to be indebted."

"Never," Carlos says. I believe him.

"Okay then. Let's go shopping!" I say with enthusiasm, and he gives me a blinding smile before walking around the car to open my door for me. Chivalry always makes a man even more attractive, and I kiss him lightly once I exit the vehicle.

The mall itself is open air and resembles an exotic downtown street with paved paths, fountains and palm trees. I'm happy to see the stores aren't all Louis Vuitton, and when I pause in front of Victoria's Secret, Lester throws his arm around my shoulders. "This is why you brought me, isn't it? I'm well known for my expertise in women's undergarments," he says in a mock suggestive tone.

"Santos," Carlos growls. I giggle in reply, separating myself from Lester's grasp.

"This stop is just for me. Lester, may I have your phone, please," I say, holding out my hand.

"What happened to yours, Beautiful?" he asks, digging into his pocket.

"I gave it up," I evenly reply, my tone indicating I didn't want to talk about it. Lester doesn't press and hands me the phone while telling me the passcode. "When I finish with my shopping, I'll call Carlos. We'll meet here," I add.

"Carlos, eh," Lester teases looking at his cousin with a familial challenge in his eyes.

"Only Steph, or you'll face the mats," Carlos responds with his Ranger face in full force. I giggle again and enter the store.

Wandering the aisles with Carlos' American Express Black in my wallet, I look at the lace panties and push up bras with renewed interest. It occurs to me that whatever I buy here isn't for only my pleasure. I am especially thrilled with a sheer plum colored underwire demi bra with matching cheeky panties. I decide to add the complimentary negligee to my "yes" pile. I may not be ready for sex yet, but when I am, no use in not being prepared.

I'm also able to find a nice selection of work out bras and clothes. I pass by the swimsuits and pause. I pick up a white one piece and black two-piece to try on. In the dressing room, I look at myself critically but gently. My skin is healing, but it is still red and patchy in areas. The one piece helps hide some of the abrasions. A sheer wrap around long-sleeved cover up serves to increase my confidence. The bikini does incredible things to my breasts, giving them an extra oomph. My ribs and hip bones are slightly more predominant than they used to be. Standing there, I feel the wake-up call to do better, to be better to myself. I don't want to return to my crappy eating habits and continue to fight a muffin top, nor do I want to turn into a walking skeleton. I can feel my resolution to embrace my inner Ranger growing stronger.

Regardless, the stimulation of the mall is beginning to wear on me. I haven't been out very much recently, and when I have, I'm in a hyper-vigilant state of mind. I don't want an audience underwear shopping, but this is also the longest I've been alone and unarmed in a public setting in months. I can feel my anxiety returning, and I'm relieved to call Carlos and find him exactly where he said he would be after checkout. He takes my bags, and I take his hand, instantly feeling calmer. "Two more stores to go for today," I say.

With stops at a sports store for running shoes and socks along with a black microfleece lined water and wind resistant jacket and a stop at Dillard's for jeans a couple of shirts, we are done. I don't even bother to try on the clothes at Dillard's, choosing a brand I know works. True to my word, we shopped less than an hour and a half, but I feel tired and tense. I close my eyes in the car on the way home, half-listening to Lester's non-stop banter; he's saying something about infrared goggles, a copulating couple and water balloons. Only Lester.

When we get home, Carlos kindly takes the bags to our room while I go in search of water in the kitchen.

I stop short and gasp with a small shriek when I see an unexpected figure waiting for me.


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: You guys are amazing, and I'm blown away by the reception to the last chapter. Readership and comment stats are reaching new heights. Specifically to my reviewers I can't reply to, especially JB, thank you. You are so encouraging and thoughtful. I LOVED seeing everyone's guessing to who or what is in the kitchen.

A reminder I may not be able to post much for the rest of the week (real-life plans), but that I did promise a bonus chapter when we reach 500 reviews!

Thank you again for the wonderful misty23y for her work as my beta!

* * *

 **Chapter 29**

Date/Time Stamp: Tuesday, September 18th, 1215-1630

 **Stephanie POV**

The person before me matches me in height, but that's where the similarities end. His close-cut hair, dark, glittering eyes, and tattoos adorning a compact, muscular physique more than compensates for his shorter stature.

"Estefania," he says in a low tone, not taking his eyes off me.

"Hector?" I question, still working to control my automatic increase in heart rate and breathing. I need to work on not being jumpy. "What are you doing here?"

"I am here to find that out from you," he says in a thick accent. Hector and I have an unlikely friendship, and we frequently partner together. In that time, I've been teaching him English, and he's been teaching me Spanish. Hector is the better student.

He looks me up and down, not attempting to be discrete. I can feel Carlos in the doorway behind me, and I wonder if he knew Hector was going to be here. I suspect he didn't. Hector will be paying for this on the mats later, but he is the only one outside of the Core Team who can hold his own against Carlos.

Hector looks beyond me to Carlos and says, "I stay." It isn't a question. He pushes a laptop and phone across the island to me. "For you," he directs at me.

I hadn't noticed the equipment before, and I step forward to pick it up. "Gracias," I say softly, and I turn to walk to the bedroom. I set the laptop down on my bed and flop back spread eagle.

I'm again surprised by the compassion, protectiveness, and loyalty shown me not only by Carlos but by his men. I need to reassess who my friends are and who is just using me under the pretense of friendship. I twist my head to glance at the clock and see it's a little after twelve. I sit up, grab the laptop and settle on the chaise lounge on the private master patio area. I smile to myself, resolved. It's time to write my letter of intentions.

 **Ranger POV**

I'm walking back from the master bedroom when I hear Steph give a small cry of alarm. I silently quicken my step, withdrawing my weapon. What the hell is Hector doing in my kitchen? His overstep will have consequences. I return my gun to the small of my back, looming large in the doorway behind Stephanie, my most menacing face in place. To his credit, Hector doesn't flinch. He's the only one outside of the Core Team who isn't afraid of me.

I listen to the short exchange between Steph and himself, and it occurs to me I underestimated their friendship and his loyalty to her. Steph steps out of the room without acknowledging me, and I give a sharp nod of my head indicating the direction of the hallway. Lester leads.

I settle behind my desk, Hector seated in front of me, and Lester leans against the closed door. "Report," I order, my steely tone matching my demeanor.

Hector maintains a similar posture and tone, responding in Spanish, "You said you needed a laptop and phone for Estefania."

"How did you get in here?" I demand.

Hector dares to look at me like I'm stupid. "I installed the security system and monitor all your electronics and trackers. It was easy. You either trust me, or we are both fucked," he responds evenly, again in Spanish.

I consider throwing him out, but Hector is right. He might be a crazy mother fucker, but he's my crazy mother fucker, and I could use his help eliminating Morelli. "Mats, five days, date and time of my choosing. If you _ever_ pull anything like this again, I will fire you." I threaten, and even Hector looks momentarily relieved. "Dismissed."

After he leaves, Lester drapes himself in the chair Hector vacated, laughing. "You should have seen your face! It isn't often anyone gets the jump on you, and damn it if Hector didn't!" he chokes out.

"You'll join him on the mats," I say evenly. "He also got past you."

"Worth it," Lester says, shaking his head and leaving.

I lean back in my chair and smile slightly before going on a quest in search of my Babe. I spy her through the master bedroom's French doors working intently on her new computer. I return to the kitchen to assemble lunch before joining her. Steph doesn't seem to notice me at first, but then she pauses to rub a hand behind her neck before looking up with a huge smile. "Carlos," she says with delight, and I lean down to kiss her. "Mmm… the salad looks great," and she sets aside the computer to join me over the strawberry chicken poppy seed salad left by Clara.

"Did you know Hector was coming?" she questions between bites. I shake my head no. She smiles and says, "Don't be too hard on him, please. I didn't realize until now how your men aren't just excellent Rangemen, but how they are also my true friends. Hector more than most."

I wonder again at the history between them, but don't press for details now. I look pointedly at the computer, changing the topic. "What are you working on, Babe?"

"My letter of intention for Dr. Anderson," she says. "When I saw Hector, I had an epiphany. I would like you to join me for my session today." Steph smiles at me again, and I see her light burning bright in her eyes.

I meet her gaze, nodding in acknowledgment. "I'm proud of you, Babe. I love you," I say, a smile playing on my lips.

"I love you, too. Now scoot so I can finish this. Come to get me ten minutes before we are to leave," Steph requests.

I stand, pull her up into my arms, and kiss her hard, one hand tangled in her curls, the other on the small of her back. _Dios_ , that woman burns inside me. I break the kiss as quickly as it began, gather our dishes, and take my leave, saying "Babe."

 **Stephanie POV**

Carlos and I settle down on the small sofa in Dr. Anderson's office, and while I feel more comfortable today than yesterday, but I'm still nervous. Opening up to someone else is a new concept in my life, and it's scary being this vulnerable.

Dr. Anderson asks me how the past day has been. I'm honest about how I feel fearful and jumpy, whether it be my dreams, unexpected company, or spending time alone at the mall. "I know it's silly," I say. "I spend most of my time in the company of the world's best bodyguards. I'm logically aware I'm safe. Fundamentally, however, I can't shake this feeling of underlying fear." Carlos squeezes my fingers reassuringly. I turn my head to him, "Please don't take this personally," I say to him.

"Never, Babe. I understand," he replies.

"Did you have time to work on a Statement of Intentions, Stephanie? It's completely fine if you haven't," Dr. Anderson gently questions. I nod my head yes in response. "Great," she compliments. "Would you please read it aloud when ready?"

I take a deep breath and pull the laptop out of sleep mode. I clutch the keyboard with both hands and nervously begin,

"I am coming to therapy after months of experiencing flashbacks and nightmares, finding myself having to work harder to hold back my feelings as a result, and gradually feeling worse about myself the longer this goes on. I don't feel safe anywhere I go, and I'm always on the alert for trouble. I'm exhausted.

"While I had a dangerous job, by focusing in on the themes of the flashbacks and nightmares, triggered by recently learning new details of traumatic events, I realize the sexual violence I experienced by my boyfriend, Joe Morelli, and the reinforced victimization and verbal abuse by my mother are the more significant threat to my well-being.

"In the Burg, I feel as though I am the constant center of attention, and the purpose of my life is to provide entertainment for others. I am the non-conformist who refused to fall into the mold of housewife and mother. My punishment is mockery and ridicule. The way the Burg accomplishes this is insidious, and with distance, I realize most of my friends aren't my friends but only exist in my life to reinforce this negative cycle.

"I've come to blame myself for the abuse. I dislike being in my skin because it crawls with the memories of past traumatic events. I feel as though when bad things do happen to people around me, it is my fault because I'm not who they want me to be. As a result, I tend to hide from or walk away from my problems, using denial as a coping mechanism, and I'm quick to decline help on the basis it takes away from my independence.

"I've also found I have the true friendship and loyalty of a group of men who are the Burg antithesis, and they always have my back. I've fallen in love with Carlos, and his presence in my life is challenging the basis for my feelings and thought patterns. I want to use therapy to break down my old ways of thinking and rebuild myself as a stronger, smarter person who can protect herself against negative influences and thoughts while being open to love and to be loved. Growing up I wanted to be Wonder Woman. Today, I choose to embrace my inner Wonder Woman. I want to fly."

I slowly close the laptop and set it beside me, clasping my hands on my lap. I'm looking down, attempting to calm the swirl of mixed emotions. I feel Carlos shift beside me, and when I look up, I see he has turned towards me. His face open with love and concern for me. I change my gaze from him to Dr. Anderson and see professional compassion and kindness. No judgment. I move closer on the couch to Carlos, and he places his arm around my shoulders, lightly kissing the top of my head.

"Stephanie," Dr. Anderson begins. "Your statement of intentions is well-written, and you've shown wonderful introspection. You should be proud. I want you to know everything you have described, the feelings you have, are not unusual in your situation, and there is hope." She pauses, shifting some documents on her laps.

"I'm going to discuss your diagnosis now. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, is recognized as having four major symptoms, which one experiences individually. In no particular order, the first is re-experiencing symptoms where the event is re-lived, such as nightmares or flashbacks, often caused by triggers. Second is avoidance, whether by physically avoiding a situation that could trigger memories of the event or deliberately avoiding talking or thinking about it. Next is adverse changes in beliefs and feelings. These changes could include your beliefs about your relationships with others, forgetting or being unable to talk about the traumatic events or even having a negative view of the world in general and being unable to trust others. Last is hyperarousal, where you may feel especially alert, jittery or irritable, or perhaps having a hard time sleeping or concentrating.

"These symptoms usually develop within two weeks of the traumatic event and typically last several months before diagnosis. From my conversations and observations with you, I find you meet all of the criteria for this diagnosis." Dr. Anderson pauses purposefully, letting me mentally absorb and catch up with her.

"But why me? Why now? Some of this has been with me since I was six years old! I haven't been feeling like this for decades on end," I say, trying to wrap my head around it all. I've moved forward to the end of my seat, and I realize I'm tense. I try to relax my shoulders, but I continue to stare intently at Dr. Anderson, my hands clasped in my lap.

"The brain is a fantastic, flexible and changeable muscle. Your brain adapted to the trauma each time to enable you to survive. It is likely there was a trigger three months ago that threw off the delicate coping balance you had; in turn, triggering your body's amygdala, or primitive center of the brain that controls your flight, fight or freeze response, to go into overdrive. You've been doing your very best to override that influx of hormones into your system. Your most recent sexual assault has reinforced this negative cycle and increased your symptoms.

"This is an unfortunately common occurrence. More than 90% of women will experience PTSD symptoms following a rape, and repeated experiences, additional stressful events and lack of good social support, such as family, can increase the likelihood of developing PTSD.

"It's also important to note that you aren't the same person you were at six, sixteen or even twenty-six. As you mature and gain more life experiences, the way you perceive yourself and those experiences can also change," Dr. Anderson takes another break. Carlos moves beside me to match my position on the couch, and I lean against him, grateful for the physical reminder I'm not alone.

"The good news is that several evidence-based treatments have worked for thousands of people. You've already started this process. I am recommending Cognitive Processing Therapy or CPT. Over twelve weeks, we will use writing and dialogue to change the upsetting thoughts and feelings you've been experiencing. By doing so, we effectively regulate the amygdala and learn how to see the world in a new way. You will have better tools in your toolbox. In general, patients begin feeling better within a few weeks. What questions do you have for me? I have several information sheets with all of this information for you to take home and review," Dr. Anderson finishes gently.

I sit for a moment, my hands holding my head. I'm not shocked by the diagnosis, but it still seems surreal. It feels surreal this is happening to _me._ I shake my head no. "I'll take a look at your sheets and get back to you tomorrow," I say in a flat tone.

"Stephanie, please remember to be kind to yourself. You've already taken the difficult first step of being here and beginning your healing process. It's a lot to take in, but I believe things will get better," Dr. Anderson says encouragingly.

I sigh and look up, grateful to see the clock indicating the session coming to an end. "I know, I know," I say. "I'll get there. Thank you." Carlos rubs my back lightly, and with a few closing comments, I find myself being ushered out of the office.

I feel numb during the car ride home. I'm not upset, shocked or dismayed. In some ways, I'm relieved. The diagnosis feels like a heavy label, but it also signals a way forward. Hope. It's also a lot to take in all at once, and I feel drained.

Carlos recognizes my need for silence, and I'm thankful he doesn't push me. I reach across the center console of the Turbo and take his hand. I love the way his hands feel; large over my small fingers, strong, rough in areas but clean and smooth overall and warm. The warmth of his hand creeps through my own and spreads throughout my entire body. It grounds my thoughts and helps bring me to the present.

We park in the beach house garage, and Carlos walks around the car to open my door for me. Before I have a chance to move, he's crouched beside me, one hand on my knee and the other tucking an errant curl behind my ear. "Stephanie Michelle Plum," he says, his eyes never leaving my own. "I am amazed by the person you are and the person you are fighting to become. _Querida_ , I love you more each day. Thank you for letting me be there for you today."

Tears that have remained tucked away all day flood the corners of my eyes as a launch myself at Carlos, and we meet in a firm embrace. "I love you, too," I choke out, and I realize these are tears of overwhelming affection and appreciation for this incredible man.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm not a psychologist and nothing I've written here should be construed as treatment advice. I'm aware some readers may be reading this story through the lens of their own experiences. If you, or someone you know, is facing some of the same issues as Steph, please consider visiting these resources. Just as Steph has hope, so can you.

Google (FanFiction doesn't allow posting of hyperlinks):

RAIIN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network). Select tab "After Sexual Assault" for information and resource links.

PTSD: National Center for PTSD. Under "Types of Trauma", select "Violence and Abuse" for non-wartime topics.


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you for your patience during my short hiatus. I had a wonderful weekend, and I hope you did as well. Thank you for the amazing reception to Chapter 29. I am deeply touched by the stories reviewers have shared from their own journeys. Your voices make writing this story an incredibly enriching experience.

Misty23y deserves credit as a co-author for the Morelli POV below. I'm grateful for her work as my beta!

* * *

 **Chapter 30**

Date/Time Stamp: Tuesday, 18 September, 0900-1900

 **Morelli POV**

The meeting with the Chief and the Senator went better than I expected. I never thought that they would give me the opportunity to serve Eddie up on the silver platter. Eddie _is_ the Burg. We grew up in the same neighborhood, often being around each other as kids, but he was never my friend. As a young boy, he was annoying; a cop by birth, always looking to get us misfits and jokers punished for something. He saw me writing one of the poems about Stephanie and threatened to beat me up over it, but I punched him in the stomach and walked away. I think he was the one who told everyone that I wrote the poems. Not that it mattered, anyway, as I was on my way to the Navy.

I smuggled the betting books with cash pouch into my office this morning in my file bag, locking them in my desk drawer under the false bottom. That is also where I keep a journal of my conquests. Everyone has a way they keep track of their notches in bedposts, but I started keeping my record at the office so Stephanie wouldn't stumble on it at my house. I have the names, physical attributes, and rating of every girl or woman I've fucked, starting with Stephanie in my father's garage. I know I was her first at six and sixteen, but she was also the first girl I ever touched.

When I return to my office after the meeting, I immediately verify my desk drawer is undisturbed. No one should be able to get into my desk, but we all are cops, so I won't put it past someone to try. I look around carefully, not noticing anything out of place. Good. They are buying my lies. Dumb mother fuckers. You would think that Senator Juniak, who was once the Chief of Police, would be more adept at identifying a person trying to hide something. I guess the old adage is true; it's not what you know, it's who you know, or in my case, who I do.

This is one long, boring day. Sitting at my desk gives me time to think, and the longer I think about things, the angrier I get. How dare Stephanie mess with my life like this after everything I've done for her! I've given her Burg respectability, I've shared my home with her, and she's the only one I publicly admit to sharing my dick with. I even put up with her shenanigans as a bounty hunter. I don't like them, but I do tolerate them. I need stretch my legs, so I take a mid-morning walk to my truck and use the opportunity to leave a message for Cupcake telling her exactly how I feel about all this bullshit.

I could be out getting laid right now, but instead, I'm sitting at my desk pretending to update my cases while watching and listening for Eddie's departure. Glancing at the clock, I groan when I see it's only 1:35. Gazarra is such a goody-two-shoes that he ate lunch at his desk from a stupid paper bag. I bet his wife still packs it for him like he's a child. I lean back in my chair and double check my messages. Cupcake still hasn't called me back. When she returns, I'm going to need to teach that woman some phone manners.

I watch as the Chief makes his way to Eddie's desk, and the two of them move into the conference room. Finally, 3:50, and I can get out of this place. I clear my desk before proceeding to unlock my bottom drawer, removing the betting books and money pouch. I slide them under my arm with two of my cases that I worked on where Eddie was the first on the scene. That way, if anyone questions my motives, I can say that I'm dropping off Eddie's statement for his signature. I'm the luckiest bastard because the coast is clear. I open his unlocked desk drawer, burying the books and bag underneath his hanging folders, slightly visible when the drawer is open. Serves him right for leaving his space unsecured. No wonder they promoted me for Detective over him. I place the key for the bag in the top drawer with his paper clips and half-chewed pencils. Gross. Once I plant the evidence, I'm ready to head out myself.

As I get into my POS truck, I can't help but think about Stephanie again. She must have contacted someone by now regarding her whereabouts. The missing person report I tried to file was shut down hard, so she clearly assured somebody she's alive and well. It's embarrassing and damages my credibility. I'm sure the betting investigation at the station has made its Burg gossip rounds by now. I'm going to need to visit my mother and Mrs. Plum this evening to redirect the news in a more positive light for me.

I call my mom and let her know I'll be over for dinner. I call Ellen Plum to invite myself to dessert. That woman makes the driest pot roast I've ever had, but her cakes are alright. She picks up after the third ring.

"Hello, Plum residence," comes Ellen's shrill voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Plum. It's Joseph," I say with my Burg voice indicating deep respect for my elders.

"Oh, hello Joseph. I'm so glad you called. You need to do something to get Stephanie home. I think she's being held against her will. I'm so incredibly worried about her. I don't understand how she gets mixed up in the things she does," Steph's mom whines.

I roll my eyes, listening to her. As much as she's a harpy, I need her on my side. "Mrs. Plum, I have some disturbing news, and this news may be the reason why Stephanie left town so abruptly. May I come over after dinner? I rather speak to you about it in person than over the phone," I state in my most serious voice.

"Of course, I'll be serving pot roast at five with chocolate cake to follow at six," comes the immediate reply.

"That sounds perfect. I'll see you at six. Would you like me to bring anything?" I ask, my Burg manners front and center.

"No, Joseph, only you. Goodbye," simpers Ellen.

"Goodbye Mrs. Plum," I reply, proud of myself.

Okay, now it's time to find Joyce or Lula. My boys need a release.

 **Tank POV**

I'm standing in the doorway to Little Girl's apartment gobsmacked and angrier than I've ever been. We could smell the rancid stench from the stairwell, and it's overwhelming in front of the kicked-in door. Bobby is beside me, and I can feel his rage. Binky came upstairs behind us, but when we approached the entry, he immediately turned and went outside for some air. Better that than contaminate the crime scene.

I take out my phone and call in our staff forensics team. When I hang up, Bobby hands me a pair of gloves and a mask from his bag, and we carefully enter the apartment. I've seen bombs cause less damage than this. Everything is destroyed, and we certainly won't be packing today.

Shit of some kind is smeared everywhere. There is no surface untouched. The kitchen is a minefield of broken glass, some of which crunches under my boots. I pass the bathroom, and every bottle and container is poured out and mixed into the shit storm. I continue forward and peer into the bedroom. The stench is worse here; I believe feces mixed with urine, and my eyes are burning. The destruction of Steph's closet is total. Everything she owns is cut to pieces or covered in waste. My eyes land on a heap of soiled panties on the floor, and my rage finds new heights. The fucker used Steph's panties as poop dispersal rags.

What really catches my eye, though, are the walls. In every room, the word 'snitch' is spray painted in huge red letters. This is personal, and I'd bet money Morelli is behind it. What the fuck was surveillance doing last night? I take out my phone and order Woody and Cal into the office. When I finish here, I'm getting some answers.

"This must be Morelli's handiwork," Bobby states when I walk back into the living room. I nod my head in agreement. "Destruction at this level took at least an hour. How did surveillance miss this? And where did he get this much shit?" Bobby asks, exasperated.

"I already called in Woody and Cal. I'll report the crime to Ranger after we have more answers than questions," I reply before sighing. I feel like I let two of my best friends down. "This is the last thing that Little Girl needs to deal with right now," I say.

Bobby's usually calm face is hard, and his body is rigid from anger. "I'll stay, supervise the forensics team, and see if we can salvage anything for Steph. Once our work is complete, I'll call you to liaison with the TPD. You go back to Rangeman and begin getting answers to our questions," Bobby states, his voice brisk.

I nod once and let my long stride take me rapidly outside. I rip off the mask and gloves as I do, pausing for fresh air when I exit the building. Binky is standing off to the side, still looking green. "Sorry, Boss," he says.

"Stay here and watch for the forensics team. Remain here as a lookout. Try to prevent any bystanders from calling the TPD. Keep a log of everything going on around you and notify me of anyone approaching or surveilling the building. Notify me of anything you even _think_ could be unusual," I bark before getting into the Explorer.

I spend the drive compartmentalizing my anger so that I can be effective at my job. When I park, I'm taking the stairs two at a time before striding to my office. Woody and Cal pop to attention when they see my approach. I stand behind my desk, my hands on the surface and body leaning slightly forward. Woody and Cal's eyes widen slightly at my deliberately intimidating form. "Stephanie's apartment was destroyed, and based on the type of damage, it must have occurred in the past 12 hours. It's obvious Morelli is involved. You will go over every detail with me regarding last night and how the fuck he got away from you," I state in a low tone. I've found quiet is often more effective than yelling. It forces people to listen to hear you.

"Morelli left work at 1730 last night. He drove to Pino's and remained there for an hour, drinking two beers and eating a pepperoni pizza," Cal immediately began reporting.

"He dined with several people, including Big Dog, Mooch, his brother Anthony, and Michael Bruno," Woody added. "He walked next door to the liquor shop for a 12 pack of Yuengling before driving straight home."

"When he got home, he threw the beer in the fridge before closing the blinds. We observed his shadow in the living room for the next three hours, drinking and watching TV. At 2130 he received a phone call and began throwing bottles at the wall. He followed the initial phone call up with several others, and at 2230, Mooch arrived in his truck with a black duffle bag. They entered the house and turned off the lights, making it harder for us to see which room they were in. Mooch left in his truck around 0230," Cal states.

I sit in my chair and replay the information mentally.

"Are you certain you didn't see Morelli leave?" I question directly.

Woody and Cal shift slightly and look at each other. "I never saw any movement around the property. Surveillance teams passively observe the front and visible side doors, but not the back," Cal answers.

That's true. We train the guys to remain in the vehicles when conducting surveillance, and that does mean certain blind spots in observation exist. Someone trained like Morelli may have noticed the team and deliberately snuck out and back in again.

"Tell me about the bag Mooch was carrying," I order.

"It was a hockey-sized black athletic bag, and it looked heavy. The strap over his shoulder was taut," Woody states.

"Did Mooch have it when he left?" I question.

Wood and Cal look at each other before each one shakes his head and says, "No, sir."

"Ensure your formal report is up to date with everything we discussed, adding an addendum for any missing details. Dismissed," I bark, and the two quickly retreat from my office, closing the door behind them.

I dial Bobby. "Any updates?" I question.

"I'm fairly certain the feces are animal in origin, but testing will need to confirm. So far, no fingerprints have been located," Bobby states. "Our team is wrapping up their initial examination."

"I'll call Chief Kovacs and request a joint investigation," I state. "Cal and Woody did their jobs. I suspect Morelli colluded with Mooch, and they snuck in and out of the house via the back door sometime between 2300 and 0200. We can't prove it, however."

"Roger. I'll be standing by to receive and supervise the TPD," Bobby replies before ending the call.

I dial the Chief. He's a good man, and I know Juniak personally selected him for the position with vetting by Rangeman. Juniak and Chief Kovac's professionalism and competency are part of the reason we generally enjoy a good working relationship with the TPD and have several standing contracts in place for joint actions, including the forensics investigation in Steph's apartment.

"Tank, hello," Chief Kovacs states evenly on the second ring.

"Good afternoon, Chief. I'm calling to report vandalism at Stephanie Plum's apartment. Rangeman has conducted an initial forensic sweep, and we would like it to be a joint investigation. The destruction is extensive, and all of her property is likely totaled. The primary tool appears to be animal feces, and her panties were used to smear it extensively throughout the apartment. Your team should treat it as a HAZMAT zone. Other items were either slashed or smashed. In each room, the word 'snitch' has been spray painted on the walls.

"Due to additional circumstances I would rather not expound on, a surveillance team has monitored Morelli since Sunday evening. He and Mooch had an opportunity last night to execute the crime, but unfortunately, we can't prove it. With the history between Morelli and Stephanie, I believe he is the primary suspect, but I am sure you will make your own determination. I say it now to request he is not allowed anywhere near Steph's apartment while the investigation is ongoing." I say straightforwardly.

I hear a heavy sigh on through the receiver. "I appreciate you calling it in. I'll handpick a team and send them over within the hour. Detective Morelli will not be a part of the investigation," the Chief replies.

I thank the Chief, and we disconnect. I immediately call Ranger afterward.

"Yo," comes Ranger's voice.

"Do you have a moment to talk privately?" I reply. I hear footsteps and a door closing.

"Go on," Ranger says, his voice harder.

"Little Girl's apartment was destroyed last night. Rangeman did the initial forensics, and I've requested a joint investigation with TPD, ongoing now," I report with a heavy heart.

"Any leads?" Ranger queries briskly.

"The damage is extensive and personal in nature. Photos will be uploaded to the server for your review. My gut says Morelli and Mooch. Surveillance can't definitively prove it, however. I believe Morelli spotted them and gave the team the slip," I state.

"It's a start but get evidence. We need to lock him up once and for all. I want to see Morelli destroyed piece by piece," Ranger growls.

When we finish the conversation, I call Rodriguez into my office. We need to work faster to get Morelli off the streets for good.

 **Ellen POV**

I'm relieved Joseph is coming over for dessert this evening. Of course, I immediately begin baking his favorite chocolate cake. There are so many rumors flying around town today, and I know he'll set my mind at ease. I try calling Stephanie again, but she ignores me, _again._ I'm so disappointed in that girl.

Dinner is finished and the kitchen cleaned before Joseph arrives. I don't want my mother interfering, so I insisted Frank drive her to BINGO night. I know she had something to do with those thugs breaking in and stealing the rodent. Stephanie gave him to me to take care of, and all of them had some nerve disobeying my direct orders in my home.

Promptly at six, the doorbell rings. Joseph is such a handsome young man, and I smooth my skirt before opening the door. "Good evening, Joseph," I greet with concern dripping from my voice. "I'm so glad you could stop by. It's been such a trying week."

"Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Plum. I'm sorry to come over on these terms," Joseph replies, appearing genuinely morose.

I usher Joseph back to the dining room before moving into the kitchen and preparing an extra big slice of chocolate cake for him. I set it before him with a smaller slice for me before I make another trip into the kitchen to return with a Coke and a special iced tea for myself.

Once settled I implore, "Please, tell me what has you so troubled regarding Stephanie."

Joseph sighs heavily before setting his fork down. "Mrs. Plum, I was called into the Chief's office today. Senator Juniak was there as well. They asked me a couple questions regarding betting at the police station. Of course, I don't know anything about it and would never do anything to endanger Stephanie like that. I love her," he says before pausing for another bite of cake.

"I asked a few questions of my own, and it would seem Stephanie contacted her Godfather to level certain accusations. I know Steph loves me back, and she would never imply anything like this if it weren't under duress. Ranger, that thug she occasionally works with, is conveniently out of town. Ranger is jealous of the relationship I have with Stephanie, and he is constantly trying to tear us apart. He's broken into her apartment multiple times in the past, and he has the skill set to make her disappear or worse," Joseph continues.

Oh dear Lord, doesn't this just beat all. Stephanie leaves town with that thug, and now she is leveling horrible accusations in an attempt to ruin Joseph. She will be the end of the good name this family has earned in this community.

"Joseph, that's terrible! I will do anything I can to help you. Simply say the word," I say, taking a long sip of my drink.

"Thank you, Mrs. Plum. You've always been a second mother to me. Please try to reach Stephanie, and I desperately need to speak to her. I would also appreciate it if you could correct any lies being spread about me," Joseph replies heavily.

"Absolutely," I reply, placing my hand over his. "I'll begin tonight."

 **Stephanie POV**

I follow Ranger into the house and excuse myself to the bedroom. Today's session was mentally grueling, and I feel like a zombie. I flop on the bed and stare at the fan blades slowly going around and around.

 _PTSD. Repeated trauma. Lack of a support network._ Those are terms and phrases that can be used to describe _me_.

I frown, staring intently at a single blade, my eyes carefully tracking its circular route.

I objectively consider how I've been feeling. _Worthless. Shame. Vulnerable. Never good enough._

Therapy is supposed to change my pattern of thinking, to see things differently. See what differently?

 _Morelli and his family. My mother. Dickie and Joyce Barnhardt. The Burg._

I leap to my feet and begin pacing. Why the hell haven't I done more to stand up for myself? Why did I go back to the Burg after college and stay there? Why have I let everyone else run my life for me, subjecting me to their shit?

Suddenly, I'm angry. I'm furious at everyone in the Burg who has used me as a sport in their life, as though I wasn't a person but merely a puppet to hurt and manipulate. I'm angry at myself for allowing it.

I pace through to the closet and spy my shopping bags on the floor. I quickly change into my new work out gear, settling on tight fitting capri pants, a tank top, and a long-sleeved zip up. I haven't toured the entire home yet, but I'm sure Carlos has a gym. I rummage in my purse for my iPod and walk briskly down the hall. I pass through the dining room to the hallway beyond. I see several bedrooms and an office through cracks in the doors before reaching the last one. Eureka.

The gym takes up the entire north wing of the house in a space slightly smaller than the master suite. It has a wall of mirrors with a treadmill, bike and rowing machine on one side, weights, benches and a few manual lifting apparatuses nearest the mirrored wall and a third of the space dedicated to mats with a boxing bag suspended in the corner.

I spy a top of the line Bose sound system in the corner near the door and plug my iPod in, immediately turning it up to an obscene volume. My mix is eclectic, ranging from classic rock to the newest pop, and all of it is fast paced. With the bass reverberating into my chest, I begin a 10-minute warm up on the treadmill before stretching.

I walk over the boxing bag and spy equipment in a corner box. Wrapping my knuckles with tape, I find a pair of gloves that will fit well enough. I take off my warm-up jacket, adjust my equipment and begin drills on the bag. I settle into my assault, deliberately striking, incorporating my footwork. With each jab, punch, and kick, I see the faces of my demons, and I fight them back.

I'm focused on the bag, on my mental mission, but I sense when I'm not alone. Turning my head, I see Hector. He has his gloves on and is standing on the mat. Our gazes meet, and we stare for a long second. I walk over, breathing heavily. As I walk, I see his eyes assessing the physical health of my body. My skin is slowly healing, but it's a far cry from smooth and beautiful.

We are standing inches apart when Hector speaks. " _Mi Angelita,"_ he says. "Why are your eyes sad?"

I shake my head no. I'm not talking right now. "No face strikes. I don't have my mouth guard," I state. He nods his agreement; we bump gloves, take a step apart and begin.


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Hello you gorgeous readers! I woke up this morning to 504 reviews from 3,200 readers from 21 countries in four continents. ***CONFETTI BOMB*** As promised, here is your bonus chapter! Thank you so much for your continued enthusiasm and support for this story.

Misty23y is my amazing beta. I encourage you to check out her work, including her latest story _Metamorphosis_.

 **Chapter 31**

Date/Time Stamp: Tuesday, 18 September, 1700-1900

 **Ranger POV**

Today's session was a lot for Steph. I am impressed with her statement. She is already beginning to see the world in a new way, but many of the things that she will bring to light could very well amplify her pain in the short term as she works to reconcile old events with new perspectives and meaning. I'm again impressed by her ability to see beyond the dark persona of the Rangemen, and I believe she considers us her light as much as we consider her ours. I could see her struggling to accept her diagnosis and absorb how she will incorporate that into her identity. Most of all, I don't want her to think I am judging her or see her as anything less than incredible.

When we arrive at home, I can see she needs a moment to decompress and process everything. I watch Steph wander into our bedroom, then I retreat to the kitchen where I can be near the master suite if anything sounds amiss but far enough away to give her space. I'm beginning to work on dinner when Steph determinedly strides past in her PT gear. I shadow her to see her intentions, knowing she hasn't seen the entire home yet. As she slips into the gym, I move into my office and pull up the security video feed on my computer.

I'm staring at the screen in surprise as Steph begins jogging on the treadmill. In a week where the unexpected seems to be the new normal, this has still managed to catch me off guard. I slam my blank face on as Lester pops into the room. "You are never going to believe this, but I saw Beautiful go into the gym. On purpose," he announces incredulously. I nod at the computer screen, and he joins me behind my desk. "I'll be damned," he declares. "Bombshell jogging."

Lester gives me a hard look. "How bad was that session today?" he asks. "And when are the two of you going to give me a better idea of what's been going on?" I don't respond but continue to stare as Steph steps off the machine and begins stretching. _Dios_ , I had no idea she could do the splits. I shift in my seat as Lester clears his throat. "Tell me again why it took you so long to commit to her?" he only half teases, and I have no answer. Sometimes I can be a huge dumbass.

And then Stephanie manages to surprise me again. Boxing. She boxes. She boxes well. Today is not her first time using a bag. How did I have no idea she _boxes_? I'm staring at the screen, mesmerized by her coiled form. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

Lester's jaw is open, his hands flat on the desk and he is leaning in to get a closer look at the screen. It would seem he also didn't know my Babe has this hidden talent. " _Madre de Dios,"_ he chokes out.

Then Hector walks into the room. I freeze, waiting for Steph's reaction. Lester and I hold our breaths as she walks towards him. I see them speak briefly, but the music drowns out any words. They begin sparring, and I'm on my feet, my chair pushed back to the wall. _Hector and Stephanie BOX together?_ More questions than answers run through my brain rapid fire, and I begin to walk towards the door. Lester grabs my arm and pins me against the wall.

I consider taking him to the floor but pause at the hard look on his face. "Don't," he says. "Neither one of us has any fucking clue as to what's been going on between them, but it's clear he's gotten Beautiful to do something neither one of us was ever able to; work out and learn some of the basics of fighting. We'll get answers, but for now, let it go."

I give him a hard look in return before nodding my agreement. He loosens his grip, but I'm no longer going to be a distant spectator. I calmly turn and slip into the gym. I assume a watchful position along the opposite wall, Lester beside me. Neither Steph nor Hector acknowledge my presence but continue to fight.

I watch them critically, and Steph's form and instincts show a level of excellence only achieved after years of practice. She delivers more hits than she takes, and she takes all hits in stride. I'm impressed at her ability to improvise between moves. As I watch her jump, deflect and roll while Hector moves in and out of defensive and offensive positions, I can see he isn't going easy on her. The sparring session between Hector and Stephanie is a fair fight. "Damn," Lester says under his breath, and I know he's reached the same assessment.

We also see the moment the fight shifts to Step's favor a second after she does. Hector loses his balance slightly recovering from a pivot, and Steph seizes the moment to land several rapid jabs, pummeling his side. He twists back, and Steph sweeps a leg underneath him, using his shifting momentum against him. Hector falls forward. Steph is immediately on him, locking his arm in an armbar.

"Yield," she commands, her voice heard through the din of the music. It's authoritative, assertive, and demanding, and I'm immediately hard. This woman is amazing.

Hector goes limp, and she releases him. They stand to face each other again, bump gloves and embrace like old friends. Steph turns towards the water cooler, notices me and freezes. Hector meets my eyes, nods once and leaves. Lester follows.

I move forward slowly, my eyes never leaving Steph's, attempting to discern what she is thinking. I turn off the music and stand before her. She's dripping with sweat, panting from the exertion and has her blank face firmly in place. Now I understand why she hates it when I do it to her.

I reach out and gently grab one of her gloved hands, slowing pulling it off before dropping the glove to the ground. I unwrap the tape and kiss her knuckles lightly before doing the same with the other hand. Her eyes track my every move.

"Babe," I say in a husky, heavily accented voice. "I find I've underestimated you again."

"You're not mad?" she asks, the meekness in her voice a stark contrast to the woman who just took one of my best fighters to the mats.

"No, Babe. I'm in awe. _Te has vuelto más hermosa._ You have become more beautiful. I'm not a man often surprised, and you've succeeded on more than one occasion today. _Querida, te quiero,_ " I said before kissing her. It's harder and more passionate than I intended as I lose some of my self-control. I force myself to pull back, not wanting to scare her or push beyond her boundaries.

Steph's eyes dilate, and she smiles slightly. "I love you, too, Carlos," she says, her voice rasping in her throat.

I bring her a drink of water from the cooler. "Are you going to do any cooldown exercises?" I ask. She nods yes, takes my hand, and walks the length of the house to our bedroom. We enter the closet, and she begins to undress, and I'm again finding my self-control challenged. I move to the bathroom to attempt to regulate my desire. When Steph emerges, she's wearing a white, one-piece bathing suit with an opaque robe. She looks like a goddess. I step towards her again and wrap my arm through the robe and around her waist, pulling her towards me. I smell a heady mixture of sweat and Stephanie, and I've lost awareness to anything other than her.

" _Eres el amor de mi vida._ _Eres impresionante, y mi corazón arde por ti,"_ I say lustily, while my accent is raw. I don't translate. The expression on her face tells me she understands my intent. She leans up to kiss me, and I kiss her back, pouring my love for her into it. As we kiss, I take a step into it, pushing her back against the bathroom wall, my opposite hand landing flat near her head. _(You are the love of my life. You are stunning, and my heart burns for you.)_

In a second, the mood shifts, and I feel her tense, no longer kissing me in return. I drop my hands, and take a step back, assessing her. Steph's eyes are wide and her breathing rapid. _Shit._ I think she's having a flashback.

"Babe," I say gently, but she doesn't seem to hear me. I see she's beginning to tremble. "Steph," I say more firmly. I don't know how she will react to me touching her, but I need to bring her back to me. "Stephanie, it's me, Carlos. You're safe," I try again. I audibly exhale as she blinks twice, her posture relaxing.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Carlos," Steph whispers, before running from the room.

"Babe, stop," I say, following her but not initiating any physical contact. She hesitates at the doorway, before turning and looking at me, tears streaming down her face.

"It's not your fault," I say softly, slowly but surely closing the distance between us. "Everything is okay. We are okay. I love you."

Steph takes the final step towards me and rests her head on my chest, her hands clutching my shirt. I wrap one arm around her with my hand rubbing circles on her back and my other hand on her head, brushing wispy hairs from her face. She's silently sobbing while I hush her in return.

In only a minute or two, she's managed to calm herself, and I'm impressed at the mental hurdling that must have taken her. I'm also cursing myself at being so forward with her. I'm not able to decipher what trigger caused the flashback, but I should have maintained better control.

" _Querida_ , what would you like to do?" I ask, wanting her to decide our next action that she might regain some sense of control of the situation.

"Shower, and please join me," she says into my chest. "I do not trust myself right now. I need you."

My heart breaks at her dejected tone, but I'm relieved she trusts and is willing to reach out to me. I crouch slightly and sweep my arm under her legs, cradling her slight frame, our foreheads touching. "Of course, Babe. Thank you for asking me," I say, then pause. "Stephanie, look at me," I add, with a kind but firm tone.

She lifts her chin up hesitatingly, her eyes following behind. A long moment later, I'm finally allowed to look into her pure blue eyes. I see her pain, regret, and vulnerability but also hope and love. "Babe, I love you. I am not in any way upset with you. I'm sorry if I pushed you too far, and I'll try to do better. When you are ready, I'd like to talk about it, but it can wait. Thank you for trusting me," I say, wanting to do anything to alleviate some of her fears. Steph looks at me a long moment, nods her head in understanding before breaking the gaze to rest her head against my shoulder.

We enter the shower, and I set her down on the bench before turning on the water. I crouch in front of her. She seems folded in on herself, her hands clasped in her lap, chin tucked. "Would you like help to undress?" I ask gently.

"No, thank you," comes the quiet reply, and I'm relieved to hear her voice. It's progress. I step out of the shower to disrobe, never taking my eyes off her. Steph pushes her robe off her shoulders and removes her hair tie, her chin remaining down. She stands and turns into the stream, pushing the straps of her suit down her shoulders. She slowly rolls it down her body, kicks it off and wraps her arms tightly around her chest. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her knuckles are white as she digs her fingers into her shoulders.

I quickly step back in. "Babe," I say as an indicator of my presence. I place my hands over her hands. She doesn't relax, and I forcibly help her release her grip. I hold her hands in my own. Her jaw is tight, and I can see she is relying on every ounce of self-control she has to remain still. "Open your eyes, Babe," I intone. "Focus on me," I continue when she does. "I'm here. You're safe." She breathes deeply and squeezes my hands.

I talk her through every step of the shower, and while she doesn't speak in reply, she nods and participates. I help her finish the bare necessities as rapidly as possible before turning off the water again and wrapping her in a towel. She visibly relaxes and sits on the bench before taking deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth.

I quickly dress and find one of my black t-shirts as well as a pair of panties and yoga pants from her shopping bags. I tuck them under my arm and find a jar of muscle cream from the medicine cabinet. Steph didn't do a cooldown, and she will be sore tomorrow. I hold my hand out to her, and we walk to the bedroom.

I place the garments on the bed, and Steph immediately puts on the panties and t-shirt. "Lay down," I say, and she complies. I rub the cream in carefully, beginning with her front. Her eyes match mine, and I see her thankfulness. She rolls over, and I finish the job. I'm pleased she's healing, and I don't think she will have many new bruises from the sparring tomorrow. It seems Hector does want to keep his job.

When I finish, Steph's breath has evened out, and I smile slightly at her tranquil form. I kiss her head and lay down on the bed beside her, gathering my thoughts. I feel like we took two steps forward, one step back. At least it's progress.

Steph stirs beside me, and I pull myself into a seated position, my back leaning against the headboard. She follows my lead, but I'm pleasantly surprised she moves to be seated between my legs, her head leaning against my chest. I wrap my arms around hers, grasping her hands. She sighs deeply, relaxing further into the embrace.

Steph initiates the conversation. "I'm sure you guessed it was a flashback," she says in a level tone. "They've been happening multiple times a day, up until you showed up. It isn't your fault, either."

I kiss her damp curls. She again amazes me. In the midst of her trauma, her first concern is for me and my feelings.

"It's Morelli's," she continues with the same slightly detached voice. "I've given you a broad overview of what's happened between us without delving into specifics. I'm not going to go into a play by play, but he forced me against a wall Thursday evening before threatening me. My subconscious took over in the heat of the moment just now."

While I know my immediate mission is to Steph, my deep-seated rage towards Morelli grows. How dare he put himself in a position to rob my Babe and me of our passion. He will pay. It's a promise, and I never break a promise.

"I know it wasn't great, but this also represents a few victories for me," she continues.

"Babe?" I question, struggling to see the same bright side.

"I've never returned to a neutral state emotionally as quickly before," Steph starts, squeezing my hand. "It's hard to describe, but when I have these flashbacks about him, my skin feels as though it is alive with his touch. I'm desperate to remove the feeling. While I was sitting in the shower, I used Dr. Anderson's five senses tool to still myself. Your presence reinforced the present, and it made it easier to discern the truth.

"I'm not sure all of this would be immediately apparent to you, so please believe me when I say, this sucks, but I believe it will get better. I believe in us and our future together," Steph says with more energy.

I tighten my arms around her, again humbled. " _Querida_ , your strength is amazing. I appreciate everything you share with me. You are my future," I reply, my cheek resting on her head.

We stay that way, each providing comfort to the other for a moment. I break the quiet first. "Babe, we should sit down to dinner. But, first, please consider two future requests. One, I believe Hector and you have been hiding something from me. I would appreciate knowing more about your history. The second request will be harder for you. Would you please consider either talking to at least Lester and Hector yourself or allowing me to talk to them in greater detail as to why we are here? It's for your safety, should you have a flashback if I'm not around, but also because it will allow them to help you better moving forward with your transition into Rangeman and resolving the outlying issues of your life in Trenton." I know I'm asking a lot, but many things will be easier if she agrees. I do not want to ever potentially be in a position between breaking her trust and confidence and my responsibilities to the people of Rangeman.

Steph is quiet for a long moment, and I'm grateful for her calm consideration. It speaks volumes about her love and respect for me. "Okay," she says. I let out a slow breath. "I will speak with everyone, and you will be there with me. I won't be specific, but I will do my best to be open. Let's have dinner and see where the rest of the evening takes us."

"Thank you, Babe. I don't take your decision lightly. I'm proud of you," I say.

Steph turns in her seat, swinging her legs around so that she is sideways on my lap. "I know. I trust you, and I love you," she says with a slight smile playing across her lips. She kisses me lightly on my lips before hopping off the bed. She grabs her pants and disappears into the bathroom, returning a moment later dressed and with her hair falling in soft curls around her face. I place my hand on the small of her back, and we walk into the kitchen together.


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: I never ceased to be amazed by this community of readers. Yesterday shattered readership records with the most individual readers and page views to date. THANK YOU! In celebration, here is the Wednesday chapter a bit early.

I had a wonderful real-life weekend, but I did sustain a minor head injury that requires me to limit my screen time for a few days. As such, please know that I have read and re-read every review, appreciating every word, but I will be slower than usual in replying. To use a cliché, it's not you, it's me.

This is an important chapter, and it's one I spent a long time on, deciding how to take this story. I'm pretty proud of how it turned out, and I hope to hear what you think.

Many thanks are owed again to misty23y for her continuous effort making this a better story. I'm grateful for your time, ideas, and support.

* * *

 **Chapter 32**

Date/Time Stamp: Tuesday, 18 September 1900-2200

 **Stephanie POV**

We move to the dining room, and the meal smells fantastic. The meal consists of steak that is falling apart with rice and beans, a side salad, and mango slices.

"Damn, Beautiful!" Lester exclaims, mock punching my shoulder. "I had no idea you were such a badass! My cousin better watch out; I think I'm falling in love," he teases with an eyebrow waggle. Carlos pulls me closer, and I can practically feel the death glare. I snicker in reply, sitting down.

The food tastes even better than it smells, and I see three forks pause in mid-air. I guess I was showing my appreciation out loud again. Oops.

Hector gives me a slight smirk. " _Ropa vieja_ suits you," he says. I smile back, feeling the blush burn on my face. I settle into the rhythm of eating and become lost in my thoughts.

I didn't set out to keep my boxing abilities a secret. The fact is I developed those skills during a time in my life that I never speak about to anyone. Hector is the only one who knows this part of my story, and that's why he has continued to be my partner.

I'm simmering with anger inside, and I hate the reactions my mind and body has, this evening's flashback included. Fuck Morelli. Fuck my mom. Fuck the whole Burg. I will no longer put up with having my present and future life hijacked by my past. I might not be able to immediately do a whole lot about these flashbacks and my mood swings, but I am determined to be committed to the program in therapy. I'm not thrilled with my diagnosis, and I don't like the label, but it is a way forward.

The irony is that of all things; it is the actions of Joe and my mom that have catalyzed me to this point. I've been in far more dangerous situations. I think it's because it's my heart and soul and not merely my body they've spent a lifetime destroying.

I appreciate the respect Carlos showed me when asking me to open up to some of the guys. He is right, and I can see how maintaining this level of secrecy creates an unnecessary level of complications. What Carlos doesn't know is that I realize now I can't reveal what's directly lead me to this point any longer. Instead, I need to lay bare the entire truth. I hope Hector will willingly go along with this.

I'm reasonably sure Carlos will be upset to learn there is more to my past, but I hope he will realize he doesn't have any right to be. As much as he holds his cards concerning his family and his history to his chest, it was wrong of him to assume that I was an open book. I may have had more cards on the table, but we were never at a point in our relationship where he was entirely in the game before. What Carlos doesn't know about is the spade I'm still holding.

We finish the meal, and I feel Carlos's eyes on me. I know he wishes I'd eat more, but my stomach is beginning to cramp at the thought of the looming conversation. I clear the dishes with Hector while Carlos and Lester put away the food and load the dishwasher. On a return trip, I stop at the table and look at Hector. We both know what I'm going to say, and Hector beats me to it. "It's time," he says. I nod my head in agreement, exhaling slowly. I'm thankful Hector is willing to allow this part of his private life to be made known without any convincing on my part.

After a quick clean up, we make our way to the living room. I make a detour to the bar, and Lester joins me. Between the two of us, we mix up rum and cokes for everyone, with a twist of lime. "A Cuba Libre," Lester informs me with a wink. The doors to the outside are open, and I settle in beside Carlos on the living room sofa, relishing in the ocean breeze.

I can feel Hector's eyes on me. I take a deep breath and begin. "So, on a scale of one to ten, how much did I manage to surprise you today?" I ask as an icebreaker.

Lester laughs, "I couldn't have been more surprised if a tiara-wearing goat flew onto the patio and started singing the _Star Spangled Banner_! Beautiful, Hector, I never saw it coming."

Carlos has his hand on my leg and gives it a light squeeze. "Babe, explain, please," he says, pulling out the big guns.

I look at Hector again, giving him one last chance to back out. He nods his head imperceptibly, and I find my courage. Talking about myself is not my favorite thing, and I've been doing it a lot lately. I also realize I'm not sure I will be able to say this more than once. I shift to look at Carlos. "Is it possible to video chat with or put Tank and Bobby on speakerphone? I'd rather not repeat these words."

"Yes, Babe," he says, looking at Lester who heads down to the hall. He kisses the top of my head, and I feel the warmth of his kiss spread throughout my nervous body. I press against him, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders. I use the moment of quiet to enjoy Carlos's distinctive scent, listen to the lapping of the ocean against the seawall and staring at the water as the light dances on it. Hector stands to turn on the fireplace, pushing away the chill of the night air.

Lester returns with a tablet, and settles back in his chair, holding it so I can see Tank and Bobby.

"Hey, Little Girl," greets Tank.

"Bomber," says Bobby. "I understand you want to talk to us."

"Hi guys," I reply, shifting in my seat to tuck my legs underneath me while clutching a throw pillow around my stomach, creating a gap between Carlos and myself. Carlos moves his arm so that his hand is on the couch cushion, fingers barely touching the side of my hip. "I'm going to tell you what's been going on," I say. "I'll start by saying thank you. You are incredible men, and knowing each of you all has changed my life for the better in ways I have yet to appreciate fully. I don't expect anything from you as a result of this conversation, and I will understand if you choose not to be involved." I look at each person in turn as I say this, ending with Carlos. His brow furrows slightly.

I feel my blank face come into place, and with as much detached emotion as I can muster, I begin with the taking of my innocence at age six, relating the entire sordid tale through age 16. Choo-choo to Tasty Pastry to my mom's ultimatum to losing the baby. While Hector knows what's coming next, he hasn't heard this part of my story before. My audience is as rigid as statues, but with a glance, I can see the rage mixed with sympathy for the girl I was in their eyes. My fingers are digging into my flesh, and I'm sure I'll have Stephanie-shaped bruises tomorrow. It is easier to tell the story for the third time, but only just.

"With Mid-Atlantic colleges ruled out, I used my love of the ocean and my desire to be as far away from the Burg as possible as my deciding factors and accepted admittance to the University of California, San Diego, or UCSD. Free from prying eyes, with the guilt and shame of my rape and miscarriage unresolved, I became a party girl. It's why my academic performance was so lackluster. I used alcohol and sex to escape, and there were lots of both to go around," I say, my tone matter of fact, as though I am talking about the weather, but I find myself losing track of my surroundings and becoming absorbed by the long-tucked away memories.

I know if I focus on the reactions of the people around me, I'll lose my nerve. I have to get the story out and deal with the judgment and fallout when it's all done. I hope Carlos will forgive and still love me, even if I end up not being the person he thought I was. My eyes look beyond the room, and I focus on the lights of the Miami skyline beyond, continuing my story.

"I became fast friends with a girl named Alicia Lopez, a gorgeous girl whose beauty came from the inside out. Her family immigrated from Mexico through Tijuana, and she had a large network of family and friends from Oceanside in northern San Diego County to Chula Vista near the border. When I first met Alicia, she had an energetic, vivacious spirit about her, and we became inseparable. It seemed that with each new daring height we reached, we needed to top it with something more dangerous to feel the same high. By our junior year, she was paying for college and supplementing her income as an escort, and I would accompany her to parties. Her John would pressure me to "be paid to party," as he put it, but I was becoming less interested in casual sex and didn't want to become entrapped by the lifestyle. In hindsight, I realize I only did what I did to regain a sense of power and control, and I certainly wasn't going to relinquish that to another asshole." I no longer see even the distant lights anymore, but instead, the images of those days play like the turning pages of a photo album.

"I wanted to pull away from the scene altogether, but my sense of loyalty to Alicia, who had become my family, and own self-loathing at who I had become kept me returning to the scene. Her John was increasing the pressure on me, and the harassment from potential clients at the parties I attended was crossing the line into sexual assault. I became scared for both of us." My voice cracks slightly, and I pause a moment, refusing to cry. My brow furrows together, but after a deep breath, I remain otherwise impassive.

"Alicia wouldn't listen. Then one party, everything changed. Her John allowed a client to be rougher than Alicia allowed, and she realized she wasn't as in control as she thought. She confronted her John, threatening to quit. I joined her as a useless back-up, and he used me as a punching bag to make his point. Can't hurt the merchandise, after all," I finish sarcastically, and I feel Carlos tense beside me, his hand moving to my thigh, eyes boring into me. The drinks we prepared lay sitting on the coffee table, forgotten as everyone is too engrossed by my story to consume them. I shift, hunching forward with my legs in front of me, my elbows on my knees, hands knotted together, staring ahead. Carlos slips his hand onto the small of my back, and I distantly register his closeness.

"Once we returned to our apartment, Alicia told me about someone who she knew that she thought could help us. She said he was in a gang, quiet, but smart as hell and if anyone could get us out of this mess, he could. That was when I met Hector. He brought me to the ER and afterward took me under his protection. He didn't ask me questions, I didn't ask him any, and our silent friendship worked. Once I healed, he took me to a boxing gym his gang operated out of, and not only did I become friends and allies with these men, they taught me to fight.

"Alicia began to take fewer but higher paying clients, attempting to see if a slow extraction from the business would work. It seemed it might, at least it was deflecting unwanted attention, but then she became pregnant. Alicia was terrified, afraid of being killed or of having her baby aborted against her will. She stopped working as soon as she found out, and we used Hector's network to hide, moving every couple of days." My voice cracks again as I remember the stress and fear of those months. I swallow hard and continue.

"In the meantime, I graduated from UCSD middle of the pack with my business degree, not bad all things considered, but I was too busy keeping Alicia alive to seek full-time employment. Alicia was around six months along, and the constant hiding needed to end.

"Alicia wouldn't be able to go to a meeting with her John herself, because we wanted to continue to hide the pregnancy. I arranged the meeting instead, and Hector joined me. The bastard refused to release Alicia unless I replaced her. When I refused, he attempted to beat me into submission. Instead, I beat him," I pause again, a grim set to my mouth.

"As the fucker laid on the ground, too broken to stand, he continued to shout threats and obscenities. I let my guard down for a moment when he became incapacitated, and he used that opportunity to pull a small gun from his pocket and shoot me," I state in a manner so straightforward it undermines the import of my words. I tilt my head, showing a faded, silvery scar below my left clavicle. I refuse to meet anyone's gaze, but I distantly register growls of anger.

"Hector earned his first teardrop that day, and it's why I hate guns," I say, moving my stare to his. Hector is leaning back in his chair, lips set in a firm line, the same memories haunting his eyes.

"Hector's gang took care of the pimp's remains for us, and we took care of Alicia," I continued. "People who knew me as a freshman could have guessed I was from Jersey by my accent, but it faded fast, and I never gave out personal information. By my sophomore year, I had changed all of my college records to hide my past further. That's how much I hated the Burg at that point, and I rarely spoke to my family.

"As it turns out, my denial and self-loathing became the perfect opportunity for Alicia. Hector, Alicia and I moved to New Jersey the next day, settling in the Newark area. Hector and I are godparents to her son, Manuel. I would think that makes Manny about the same age as Julie," I reflect. "Alicia is married now with two additional children, but we deliberately drifted apart, mostly to ensure no one would discover her by association with Hector or me," I say with a twinge of regret, missing the closeness of our friendship even now.

"Hector and I also didn't stay in touch. I was surprised when we first saw each other at Rangeman," I say. I shrug, pursing my lips together. "At that point, the past was the past, and we both thought it would be better not to let on we knew each other, not wanting to risk making Rangeman in any way complicit in our history." I run my fingers through my hair and down my neck before resting my elbows on my knees again, my fingers forming a chin rest. I'm back to looking beyond the water before I continue with a flat tone.

"I was trying to figure out what to do with my life when Grandpa Mazur died. I returned to the Burg for the funeral, and I got sucked back into life there. My mom seemed to have forgiven me, and Grandma Mazur was grieving. As her favorite grandchild, I wanted to be there for her.

"Shortly after that, I ran over Morelli with Big Blue, and then I met Dickie. I got a decent job as a lingerie buyer, and everything seemed to be working out. I don't think I ever loved Dickie, and I know he never loved me. I did love everyone's approval and acceptance, and I wanted to feel as though I had moved on from the girl I was in college. I relearned the high-cost of Burg acceptance, though, when I found him balls deep in Joyce's ass," I end, bitterness sharp on my tongue. I feel my shoulders tense and anger laces my next words.

"I think something snapped in me that day. I wasn't going to flee my home again, nor did I want to be hapless. It wasn't pure happenstance I decided to become a bounty hunter. When I reconnected with Hector, we began boxing again," I look at Hector, choosing my next words carefully.

"I asked Hector to keep my training a secret, and he obliged me. My entire life people have underestimated me, and in a place like the Burg where everyone assumes they know everything about me, that underestimation is to my advantage. I'm doing a difficult job, and if my skips believe I'm incapable, it makes it easier for me to pursue them," I say in means of explanation for my newly discovered abilities.

"I also wanted it to be a secret because I'm not sure of my skills outside of the controlled environment of a gym. The converse is also true. If I suddenly have this reputation as a great fighter, people will want to fight me. I know I could have stood up for myself more, but if I had done that, I probably would struggle even more at my job. In the end, everyone believes me to be a bumbling, inept, foolhardy bounty hunter, in way over her head, and with my lack of self-esteem and strong levels of denial, I began to believe them. As hard as this is to say, I think deep down I believed I deserved some of the crap I got from my skips because my hands are responsible for killing another person." I pause again, my mind catching up to the recent past, my emotions beginning to be raw from the fatigue of this story. I dig deep to continue with an objective, self-aware tone.

"My biggest mistake was becoming entangled with Morelli again. I had settled pretty hard into denial land, and I still wanted to be accepted by my community. I think a part of me believed that if I pursued a relationship with him, it could rewrite the past in a more favorable light and make some of the pain go away. It worked for a while. Then I recently learned from a drunk skip and old acquaintance that Morelli placed a bet after raping me at sixteen that he would marry me someday. That bet is still active, and the pot is large. At the same time, I discovered the obscene poetry he wrote after the Tasty Pastry incident is still around town, and a high school friend committed suicide in front of me via my car. Emily chose death rather than go back to jail or to face the Burg judging her for lashing back against an abusive and unfaithful partner." My jaw clenches as I swallow my threatening tears. I breathe in and out slowly and deeply once before continuing, keeping my composure.

"It took me some time to work up the nerve to confront Morelli about the bet. I finally did Thursday night. He became aggressive, threatened me, and began to use physical force against me. I used my famed knee against him and fled. I believe if I hadn't, he would have raped me again. I left town the following morning." I slouch, feeling the weight of verbalizing my history, resting my forearms on my legs, my gaze between knees and tears in the corners of my eyes. When I continue my voice is broken but strong.

"Over the past couple of months, my mental health has been in steep decline. I'm guessing you noticed I cut back my hours at Rangeman, and I also went after fewer skips. I've struggled with flashbacks, a constant sense of fear, and I'm an emotional see-saw," I say honestly, earnestly hoping I haven't lost the respect and acceptance of everyone in this room. Carlos has kept his hand on my back, his thumb rubbing small circles. I inhale deeply and lift my head, unshed tears blurring my vision.

Looking at Hector, Tank, Bobby, and Lester in turn, I say, "I'm incredibly grateful for your help and support the past few days. Thanks to you all, and especially Ranger, I've been able to confront some of these demons and seek professional help. I'm seeing Dr. Anderson, who diagnosed me today with PTSD. I intend to remain in Miami for at least the next three months while I heal and become a stronger person. I'm also very sorry if I've hurt any of you or placed you in a difficult position by disclosing this information," I finish and look at Carlos.

The room is silent. Everyone else is forgotten as my eyes scan Carlos's face, my lower lip quivering, my breathing still. My heartbeat is deafening in my ears, and my hands are numb with the emotional anticipation of his reaction coursing through my veins. I'm praying he'll still love and want me, even knowing my dark past. Carlos moves to crouch in front of me, gently taking my hands in his while staring intently into my eyes, his brown ones flooded with unshed tears.

" _Querida,_ " he begins, his voice rough and low. "Please know I don't judge you, and never ask for my forgiveness, as I see nothing to forgive. I could never have imagined the depths of your courage, resourcefulness, determination, and loyalty. You are safe now, and I promise to do everything I can to protect you, to love you, and to cherish you. When I said I was committed to forever with you, I meant it. Your honesty tonight has only served to strengthen that resolve." I see him swallow hard as he steadies his emotions. When he continues, it's in a tone of quiet, unremitting passion.

"Babe, I love you, all of you."

I'm stunned. Carlos is once again more generous with his heart than I ever expected. "I love you, too," I say softly, a tear escaping for the first time. I throw my arms around his neck, grateful for the strong enveloping of his arms around me. We stay like this a short moment, but aware of our audience, break the embrace and return to seated positions on the couch, my hand tightly clutching his.

I bite my lip, and with furrowed brow then say, "I'm not trying to hide anything. Ask me whatever questions you have."

Lester looks shocked, and his usually quick mouth is silent. It's Hector who breaks the silence. " _Mi Angelita,_ " he says gently. "It's been enough tonight. Any questions can wait until tomorrow. Rest."

"I agree with Hector," Tanks says. "It's going to be ok, Little Girl. We are all on your team," he adds, compassion on his face.

"I'm going to come down tomorrow," Bobby begins before finishing kindly, "Hector's right. Rest. We are here to share your load. Good night, Steph." The call ends, and Lester sets the tablet down before standing and walking over to me.

He sits on the coffee table, our knees barely touching, leaning forward to look at me directly. "Beautiful, I had no idea. I love you as my little sister. I swear to help and support you in any way I can," he says, a myriad of emotions rolling through his voice. He stands with me, and I hug him as a brother, my heart growing with acknowledgment of his declaration.

I walk over to Hector. He stands, and we embrace. "Thank you," I say in a catching voice. "You've always been there."

"Estefania," he begins. "You are the one who saved my sister and me. I will always be in your debt."

I turn and exit the room with cleansing tears of relief silently rolling down my face. I visit the restroom and splash water on my face, washing away the dried tracks. I've cried my tears. I do not want to fall victim to the past again. I will face the future bravely with Carlos and my brothers beside me.

With that resolution, I stride into the next room, slide into bed and kiss Carlos lightly on the lips before placing my head on his chest, quickly falling asleep in his warm, safe arms and the lullaby of his heartbeat.


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Thank you again for the thoughtful feedback. I will reach out to each of you in time, but for now, please know how much I value each and every comment. I'm thrilled you like the direction I took this story.

Every chapter – high five of thanks to misty23y for all the time she freely offers to this story as the beta.

* * *

 **Chapter 33**

Date/Time Stamp: Tuesday, 18 SEP 2200 – Wednesday, 19 SEP 0100

 **Ranger POV**

I'm lying in the darkness with my Babe in my arms, my mind whirling at the turn this evening took. No one has ever left me as surprised and astounded as Stephanie. Suddenly, many other things make much more sense. I monitored her from afar after Ramirez, expecting her to be upset by his death and the circumstances involved. It never occurred to me she took that event in stride because it wasn't her first time dealing in death. It also partly explains why she was able to bond with and help Julie so successfully after Scrog.

Steph's story explicates why Hector applied for a position at Rangeman. As a former gang member with no military background, he is an anomaly in my workforce. When Hector came to me saying he had left the streets to start a better life, it resonated with me and my past. He is undoubtedly my best technical employee, and for the most part self-taught. He's proved himself loyal multiple times by providing intelligence and contacts.

I'd noticed Hector seemed always to be around when Steph's cars went to heaven or when there was trouble with one of her skips, but so are many of the Rangemen. I dismissed the observation on the premise that Steph has that effect on people. I failed to consider the possibility he saw himself as her bodyguard.

Steph is spot on when she says everyone consistently underestimates her, and she wisely uses that to her advantage. I should have known better than to attribute the way she always seems to leave scrapes relatively unscathed to luck.

I frown, remembering my first kill. It was with my M-16 from a distance, and the guilt that consumed me was unexpected. Tank, Lester, Bobby and I depended on each other in those days as we dealt with changing from our childhood ideals of soldiers at war into battle-hardened men. I would have struggled alone. Hand to hand combat is one of the most difficult things for a soldier to process. I'm concerned Steph feels the need to downplay how powerful she can be, to take unnecessary abuse on her body, as misplaced atonement.

After joining the Army, I maintained some of my contacts from my time in the gang. Word had spread through the streets of an Angel of Death who fought for the freedom of a friend and won. No one knew who he or she was, and the details changed regularly. Eventually, I chalked it up to urban street lore. _Angelita_ indeed.

I check my watch and see it's only 2100. After making certain Steph is sound asleep, I slip out the bed and move down the hall. Striding into the living room, I see Hector's form on the patio, and I continue forward, stopping beside him.

"Ranger," he says, acknowledging me.

"Hector," I begin, my tone one I reserve for equals, not subordinates. "It would seem I am in your debt. Has the threat against Steph, Alicia and yourself been eliminated, or is this something we should be monitoring?"

"I took care of it," Hector replies in Spanish, pointing to the second teardrop on his face. I had noticed he obtained that in the last year after a long vacation, but I didn't press him as his work continued to be exemplary. "My family in California used an intermediary to contact me. A member of the gang affiliated with the pimp wanted to make trouble and was harassing people to shake me out. He was an idiot, believing he could eliminate me to make a big name for himself." Hector grinned a dark smile, looking at me. "I used some of my most creative knife work to ensure no one will make that mistake again."

Hector looks away. "I used my time there to gather more information. I do not believe anyone knows Estefania's real identity. She used a party name and dressed much differently then. Alicia also changed her name. I monitor both of them electronically, and I've altered certain records to make them nearly invisible online," he finishes in a more serious tone.

My Babe has a self-appointed dark guardian angel.

"Estefania downplayed the story," he continues. "She suffered internal bleeding and several broken bones as a result of the initial beating. It took months for her to recover fully. She could have walked away from the entire mess my sister made several times, but she refused to allow another person to suffer if there was something she could do about it. The bullet she took in the fight with the pimp missed her heart by an inch. Make no mistake. It was my hand that finally killed him, but he would have died anyway as a result of her beating. It is Estefania's courage and determination that saved not only my sister's life but also my own. _Angelita_ was the inspiration I needed to walk away from the gangs and do something with my life. I am indebted to her."

My conversation with Hector is the longest one we ever had, and I stand there stoically absorbing the words. I'm stunned once again at the incredible selflessness of my Babe. She loves unconditionally. It makes the actions of people like Morelli and her mother, who should have loved her unconditionally in return but instead rejected her love and trust even more despicable.

I turn to Hector and embrace his hand in a shake, _"Gracias, mi amigo."_ He nods once in acknowledgment. (Thank you, my friend.)

As I begin to turn and walk away, I ask Hector one last question. "Do you think Lester figured it out?"

Hector laughs in a deep baritone and smiles broadly, his teeth reflecting in the moonlight.

 **Lester POV**

I'm in the gym, lifting weights and using the challenge to organize my thoughts and calm my emotions.

Between my observations of Beautiful's behavior and the information Ranger had given me, I knew abstractly of the abuse and sexual violence in Steph's life. I severely underestimated the situation, and hearing the specific details, giving the story life shook me to my core. I have no idea why both Morelli and her mom have the gift of another day of life on this earth. Ranger and I have killed people for lesser offenses.

I know exactly the type of girl Beautiful would have been at the parties she described. I've attended more than I can count. I've always seen those girls as a good time, the take 'em and leave 'em sort where we both got something we wanted. It's hard for me to reconcile that lifestyle with Steph. It's hard for me to imagine how much pain she would have been in to go to those lengths to deaden it, and it makes me wonder how much more pain she must be in now.

If I'm having a hard time imagining Steph as a party girl, I don't have a hard time seeing her use a beating she took for a friend as her Phoenix moment. It would seem Beautiful has strength and intelligence that far surpasses my calculation of her, and she used her low to give new life to not only herself but to Hector and Alicia.

I swallow hard, knowing her story is giving me cause to reconsider my playboy ways. I think of the women I've fucked and left, ignoring their dead eyes, telling myself we both went out looking for a good time. Suddenly those eyes are all blue, and I find myself wanting to be a better man.

I'm setting up a rack on the bench press when Ranger strides in, his blank face in place. That works on most people, but it doesn't on me. I can see the price this evening has taken in his eyes. He stands near my head to spot me. I finish the set and rise.

"What a fucking disaster from the one person among us who doesn't deserve any of it," I say with deep anger.

Ranger nods his head in agreement. "You said you'd started some things in motion, but we need to do more. When are we going to war game this shit out?" I say in a challenging tone, needing something to focus my uneven emotions on that could make me feel productive.

"Tomorrow, after Bobby arrives," Ranger states.

I nod in agreement. "Good."

I pace on the mats, continuing to process the revelations. "I never imagined Beautiful would be more like one of us than not, dark past and all. In fighting to do the right thing, she nearly died for Hector, Alicia and that child, Manny," I continue, my voice trailing off. I meet Ranger's eyes and hold them, my own wide. "Steph said Alicia married in Newark. It couldn't be, could it?" Ranger holds my stare.

I think about my older brother, Jose, and his family. They have been married the better part of a decade, blessed with three kids. Their oldest son would be about Julie's age.

"Hector's sister, Alicia, is married to my brother," I say in a whisper.

Ranger nods his head in reply. "Yes," he confirms.

 _Holy shit_ , I think, sitting down on the bench.

 **Stephanie POV**

I awake violently, swallowing my scream. I may be resolved not to let my demons win, but that doesn't mean they aren't using my mental exhaustion to steal precious sleep from me. I've never told this story in its entirety, and it's been years since I thought about it. I'm not proud of the decisions I made in college and the girl I became. The reality is I was ill-equipped to deal with the aftermath of Morelli's rape and subsequent miscarriage, and I was doing whatever I could to numb it. I had to learn the hard way it wasn't going to work.

Ranger has a lot he could be angry with me about, from being an outright slut to helping kill a man and covering it up. I'd destroy that bastard again, and he deserved it, but it's a pretty big thing to keep secret. I know Carlos is no stranger to dealing in death himself, but I'm not a soldier fighting for my country. I fight in the shadows for my friends.

I scan the room and see I am alone. Laying in this huge bed, I realize how much I depend on Carlos's presence to ground me in these moments of emotional upheaval. I look at the clock and see it's 11:20 pm. It makes sense Carlos would need to get up to work, speak with Hector and Lester, or exercise to process everything. As I sit in the bed, trying to hold onto my resolutions of strength, I feel the insecurities that plague me creeping in at the periphery. What if tonight is too much for him, and he figures out I'm not worth it?

I know what Carlos said in the living room, but that was in the heat of the moment. A couple of hours later, he's had some time to begin to make sense of it all. He could have very well had that ah-ha moment, and I wouldn't blame him. I consider going to find him, rejecting the notion. When Carlos got up, he had a reason for doing so. He needs space and time to work through his reactions and to run his business. I've taken a great deal of his time, and I don't want to become a needy burden.

I begin to tremble, a combination of the lingering fear of the nightmare and the imagined possibility of Carlos' rejection. I walk to the closet to look for a sweatshirt, finding one of Carlos'. I inhale deeply, and my favorite smell brings tears to my eyes. I spy an extra blanket on a bottom shelf and grab that as well.

I walk back into the bedroom, but the bed suddenly seems too large and opposing to face alone. I bypass it, grabbing a pillow and push through the blinds to step out onto the patio. I lower the back of the chaise lounge so that it's level with the seat and lay down with the blanket wrapped around me, pillow under my head.

I focus on the nocturnal orchestra of the night. The ocean has always been a balm to my soul, and I breathe in the cool, salty air, attempting to reject my doubts and hold onto the person I want to be. I fall asleep again fighting to push back the fear and uncertainty nipping at the corners of my heart.

 **Ranger POV**

I stay in the gym with Lester, and we take turns with the weights. The short bursts of exertion give me focus and help me to tamp down my shock that I might see things more clearly. I move beyond my initial astonishment of Steph's admissions to falling more in love with her. Her actions to selflessly sacrifice herself for another and then teach herself to be able to fight back against an enemy reach to the foundation of my core values. That her actions ultimately affected my family for the better is an astounding twist of fate.

I check the clock and see it's making a fast trek towards one am. I put away the weights and make my way back to the bedroom. I'm temporarily night blind as I pad into the bathroom, closing the door to quickly shower and change. Stepping back into the master bedroom, I blink rapidly and frown as I observe the empty bed. I scan the room and make another sweep of the bathroom and closet. I turn and move quickly to my office, pulling up the security feed. It takes me several long, heart-pounding moments to locate my Babe on the patio.

Just as quickly as before, I cut through the house to the outside, taking the most direct route. Steph is curled in a ball, laying on her side. I squat before her, lightly pushing her curls from her face. I can see the dried tear tracks in the moonlight, and her skin is cold. " _Babe, why are you facing this alone?"_ I think, my heart swelling.

She's working so hard to be healthy and brave for all of us and herself. It's hard to remember it's only been 72 hours since I caught up with her. I'm amazed at how far she's come, but it's clear we have a long way to go.

I stand to open the patio door, pushing the blinds aside for a clear path into the house. I lift Steph, and she curls into me, grabbing my shirt. As I lay her on the bed, she whimpers at the break in physical contact. I quickly close and lock the door and move beside her in the bed, adjusting the covers to warm her shivering body. She stirs slightly, blinks once and looks at me.

"You're still here," she says, with a tone of relief and disbelief in her voice.

I pull her closer, my arms around hers, our legs intertwined. "Yes, _Querida_ ," I say in a husky voice. "I'll be here forever. Nothing has changed that. I love you now more than ever." I rub her back, and she quickly falls back asleep.


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Special thanks to everyone for their patience waiting for this next chapter. I know I'm posting a bit behind schedule, but I think this crazy long chapter helps make up for it. I'm sincerely appreciative of the warm, enthusiastic and constructive comments. You guys know how to make me want to write more, especially when I've had a discouraging week.

Misty23y is a co-author on the Morelli POV and deserves credit for her time and talent. Thank you for being my beta!

* * *

 **Chapter 34**

Date/Time Stamp: Wednesday, 19 SEP 0600-1100

 **Chapter 33**

 **Morelli POV**

Last night was fan-fucking-tastic. Kathryn Ricci is a wildcat in the bedroom, liking it rough, fast, and anyway I want it. Not that she has a choice. For her willingness to please me, I make sure that she gets the hours she wants and works the areas she wants. All she has to do is make sure my boys are happy. Let me tell you, her body is a killer. She has the most amazing natural d-cup breasts. I can squeeze and fuck her tits like I can't with small Stephanie. She lets me pull her hair while fucking her ass. She even lets me smack her. I'm getting aroused thinking about our tryst last night.

I arrived in our room in the cheap, mid-level sleazy motel at 9 pm to find her waiting for me in a black nighty that barely covers her ample breasts, with a thin scrap of material parading as a thong. She's wearing thigh-high black leather boots. I hardened instantly at the sight of her. I stalked over to her, fucking her in the ass immediately, no foreplay for my whores. Then, I spend the next four hours abusing her body, fucking her in every position I enjoy, regardless of her comfort. We go at it hard, leaning over the dresser, up against the wall, on her back on the floor, everywhere but the bed and missionary. I get enough of that with Stephanie, or at least I used to before she started denying me. When Kathryn leaves to head into work, I take a shower then go into my other room at the same hotel.

The only thing better than going to sleep after being fully serviced and is waking up the next morning to a different woman giving me morning head for my morning wood. I'm laying with my legs spread, arms behind my head watching Robin Russell take my entire shaft down her throat. God, that feels good. I lean forward to grab her hair, holding her down an extra moment and savoring the contractions of her gag reflex on my cock. When I let go, her face is red, and she gasps for breath with a huge wad of saliva falling out of her swollen lips. The perfect vision of a woman doing exactly what her mouth was meant for. Robin isn't my best fuck; her pussy is too loose and tits too small, but she gives the best head, so I take advantage of her oral skills whenever I can.

I love how each of my girls has her own blow job personality. When I call them up, it's like choosing a different ice cream flavor, only they are the ones who are doing the licking. Convincing Kathryn and Robin to join my repertoire took some convincing. They were concerned about getting fired from the force if we were caught. First, I never get caught. Second, I am someone who can make or break a person in the Burg. Those two realized pretty quick their careers were only going to be improved by fucking me.

All in all, I'm extremely pleased how Monday and Tuesday went. Through my own cleverness, I have everyone just where I want them. The Chief and Juniak believe all the bullshit I threw at them. The took it all; hook, line, and sinker. I sat in front of them, playing the role of the long-suffering boyfriend, who loves his fiancé more than life itself, who only wants what's best for her while I don't care one way or the other in reality. I also was able to serve Gazarra up as the sacrificial lamb. They believed me when I told them that Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes himself was the ringleader. Ha! Dumbasses, both of them. Even better, Ranger will be under scrutiny for destroying Stephanie's apartment. I thought using all the panties she wore before we fucked to spread the shit around was a genius touch.

I know that Cupcake is with Ranger. The question is, where does he have her stashed. She can't be with him of her own free will; I mean, she's my fiancé. He kidnapped her, I'm sure of that. I wouldn't be surprised if he made up some random threat to force her to stay in a safe house. Once I find where he has her, I'm going to go there, guns blazing to rescue my Cupcake and lock up that menace once and for all. He's going to wish he never decided to open his company in Trenton.

When I get Cupcake home, she's going to pay for her stupidity. First off, she's going to let me fuck her any way I want to, which will include fucking her in the ass. She, like most women, say no when they really mean yes, and I've been too forgiving with her "no" replies to my reasonable requests in the sack. That's why men should always be in charge in the bedroom. We know what the bitches really want better than they do themselves.

I don't get why Stephanie has to be such a fucking prude. I know how she slept her way through college. San Diego is a Navy town. One of the Petty Officers who transferred to my boat in Norfolk went on and on about this hot chick he boned at some party with high-end hookers. I didn't think anything of it at first, but as he described her pure blue eyes and a heart-shaped birthmark on her perfect left butt cheek, it caught my attention. I showed him a picture of Steph I kept in my rack, and he confirmed the "best fuck at the party" was Cupcake. Stephanie thinks no one knows her secret, but I do. Once Manoso finds out about what a whore she is, he'll dump her.

Manipulating Ellen Plum to do whatever I want is ridiculously easy. She is so quick to blame those thugs for everything. Them stealing Rex from right under her nose was priceless. However, hearing the antics of Mrs. Mazur had me thinking that I can further trap Stephanie just in case it takes longer than I want to flush out Manoso. I think I will research the symptoms of early onset Alzheimer's and Dementia. I'm sure Mrs. Mazur exhibits at least a few of the symptoms. She's certifiably crazy. If I can provide enough compelling information to Ellen, then she can have her mother placed in a nursing home. Stephanie will definitely rush back her to save her precious grandmother.

To make everything better, Lula told me over a hand job in my truck yesterday that Vinnie finally fired Steph for being the lousy bounty hunter she is. Once Cupcake finally returns to the Burg homeless, jobless, and friendless, I'll be there as her knight in shining armor. Stephanie will be so grateful and finally humbled that I know I'll have her walking down the aisle in no time, and I intend to make it quick.

Once Stephanie has my name and ring, Manoso won't be able to touch her ever again. Then, she'll learn to toe the line, being the proper Burg woman that she was raised to become. I need her to be pregnant with my son as soon as possible. I want two to three boys. If we have girls, I'll keep knocking her up until I have my boys. Anyway, it'll be her job to take care of them, not mine. We need to make sure the Morelli legacy lasts another generation. Back-to-back pregnancies sound good to me. By the time she's done giving me my children, she'll be a fat, ugly cow with sagging tits from the brats nursing on her.

More so, once Cupcake finally pops out my kid, I'll finally be able to collect on that bet I started all those years ago. The satisfaction I feel at winning brings me to completion, and I smugly smile as Robin chokes on my huge and unexpected load.

Cupcake is the perfect woman for me. She is so fucking clueless to my mistresses. I need to marry her, but after Dickie, she has a closed mind to an open relationship. I avoided being with my girls as much as possible when Steph and I are in an "on" phase, but I'm not a one-woman man. I know what buttons to push to drive Stephanie to an "off" phase of our relationship when my boys need more attention than what Steph was willing to give. However, the fact that she puts out on a regular basis, and once she's my wife I'll take her whenever I want her, will be enough to keep her around. With her as my wife and pregnant, I can continue fucking my various mistresses, while she's at home, slaving away in my house and minding my children for me. Now, to find Cupcake.

 **Tank POV**

Yesterday was a shitty day, no pun intended. Between discovering Little Girl's apartment was destroyed on our watch to that heartbreaking video chat last night, I'm struggling to stay the course and not impulsively haul Morelli and Ellen Plum, hell, half the God-damned Burg, into holding cells for _questioning._ After disconnecting with Little Girl last night, I left Rangeman to continue canvassing the Burg for more of the fucking messages left by Morelli. I'm so angry that I needed to focus my energy onto something positive or that waste of carbon and oxygen wouldn't have survived the night.

It's nearing 0600 now, and I'm inspecting the last two bathrooms on our list. In total, I've documented and removed eight fucking messages left by that shit-bag Morelli. It kills me that's just the ones that have survived nearly two decades. Stephanie has been living in a town that mocks and memorializes her rape for almost twenty years. I put it together around 0245 that this _poetry_ is what inspired Morelli to give Steph that stupid nickname Cupcake. What a fucking slap in the face to her every time he says it.

I don't think Ranger knew everything Steph was going to say last night. His face and posture shifted once she began talking about San Diego, and it's the closest to shocked I've ever seen him. I honestly have no idea how Little Girl has functioned so successfully up to this point. Her ability to survive a trip to hell and back multiple times relatively alone in this life is greater than anyone I've ever met. Steph is the best person I know, and Ranger better not fuck things up with her.

I always thought something was off with Hector, but I couldn't ever figure it out. He always seemed to be particularly interested in Stephanie, but I knew he was gay. His work is exemplary, but his history is sketchy. That Hector has quietly devoted his life to saving Little Girls' is something I never saw but makes perfect sense in hindsight. I wouldn't be surprised if Ranger promotes him this week. I might even suggest it.

I return to Rangeman at 0700 to review the files on my desk before getting a couple hours of sleep. Rodriguez stated yesterday that he thought his background check of Morelli would be complete today. He said there were a couple anomalies he felt needed verifying before forwarding the report to me. He'll begin work on that damn marriage bet after that. The investigation at Steph's apartment has stalled. I appreciate that she wanted her privacy, but some surveillance footage would go a long way right now to breaking the case open.

I flip to the forensic report. The fecal matter is confirmed as canine, and the shit is from an undetermined number of donors and the samples seem to be anywhere from a few hours to a week old. I was hoping the urine on the bed would prove to have some identifiable DNA, but so far the lab hasn't been able to find enough quality cells. Urine isn't the best source for DNA to begin with, and the area he pissed on was sprayed with a bleach bottle before being smeared in additional shit. They are currently testing the spray paint to determine the manufacturer and lot. No hair or fingerprints found.

I hear a knock on my door and look up to see Cal delivering last night's surveillance report me. I nod at him, and he begins an oral summary.

"Woody and I assumed the watch at 2200. Morelli spent the night at the same shitty motel he seems to have a standing reservation at. The previous watch observed Kathryn Ricci from TPD arrive around 2030. Morelli left her room and moved one door down at 0108. Ricci departed at 0135. Robin Russell, also TPD, arrived at Morelli's second hotel room at 0545. When the watch relieved us at 0600, they were still in the room together. We have long-range photos of both women and Morelli entering and leaving the rooms. Woody was able to enter the first hotel room after Ricci left, and he photo documented the condition of the room and inventoried three discarded condoms. We did not observe Morelli leaving the hotel overnight, and there is only one entrance/exit point from the hotel rooms," Cal professionally reports.

"Good, dismissed," I say, and Cal turns and leaves. Morelli's getting more brazen with Stephanie out of town. Perhaps he's getting sloppy in other ways.

I forward the reports to Ranger before logging out and heading down to my apartment. I need to recharge so I can be on my game later. I have a good feeling about today.

 **Stephanie POV**

I sleep restlessly, my dreams chaotic. It's as though I've unleashed Pandora's Box in my brain. I try to be still and not to bother Carlos. His presence in the bed is enough to comfort, and both of us don't need to be zombies. I'm surprised he doesn't wake at five o'clock in the morning as is his routine, and it's my most significant indicator that the upheaval in my life is also exhausting him. By seven I give up the pretense of sleep.

I'm about to slide out of the bed when Carlos places an arm across my waist. "Good morning, Babe," he says smoothly, his voice sexy and husky with sleep, his eyes half open.

"Morning," I say with a scratchy voice, flopping my head back onto the pillow. My eyes are wide open, but I feel hung over. It's a combination of the sleepless night and the emotionally draining evening. My head is pounding, and my throat feels raw. Great, I'm coming down with a cold. I always seem to come down with a cold after big emotional events, so I'm not surprised.

Carlos props himself up on one elbow, still laying on one side. "Would you like to tell me why you were sleeping on the porch last night?" he asks, looking at me more carefully.

I sigh. I don't especially feel like doing anything, let alone talk some more. It seems like all I've been doing is talking. I know I'm throwing a pity party, and it won't help. I owe myself and this relationship more effort. "I couldn't sleep," I admit. "Bad dream. I was escaping to where I could hear the ocean." It's more or less the truth.

"Babe, you can always come and find me," Carlos replies gently. "I'm never too busy for you."

"Yes, I know," I say in a tone that's shorter than I intended. Carlos raises an eyebrow at me. I exhale a quick puff of air. "I don't want to be a needy person in your life constantly taking you away from your work, friends, and hobbies. You might be alright with that in the short-term, but eventually, you'll resent me for it." I'm sitting up now, looking straight at him, feeling defensive.

Carlos looks at me a long moment, and I begin to squirm under the intensity of his gaze. When he speaks, his voice is soft, " _Querida,_ I know you've never had anyone love you unconditionally. What that means is that I won't become tired of you interrupting me or diverting my attention from things. I know you are independent and self-reliant, but I also know that you love me unconditionally. You are the most loving person I know. It's okay to lean on me."

I feel my barriers fall and the insecurities I worked at holding back all night swoop into the forefront of my mind. I pull my knees to my chest with my back against the headboard as tears fall silently down my face. Carlos sits up beside me, but otherwise patiently waits for my reply.

"I don't get it," I finally spit out. "I hear what you say about me. I know that you love me, and I believe you when you say you'll be here. Don't get me wrong. I don't need another explanation of my attributes. But you, you're completely amazing, and I'm, well, me. I'm an emotional wreck, a shit-ton of work for you right now, and let's not pretend that you knowing that I'm an accomplice to murder doesn't complicate things outside of the fact that you didn't enter into this knowing I'm about as far from the Virgin Mary as they get. My family sucks, and pretty much everyone would agree you are way the fuck out of my league. You have every reason to walk away from the freak show train wreck that is my life. So, I don't get it. I just," I falter.

"Babe," Carlos interrupts as I trail off. I look at him, brow furrowed and lips pursed. "Babe, I don't love you because you are as pure as the driven snow with a perfect pedigree. I'm not the Burg. You did _not_ commit murder. You justifiably defended yourself against an enemy who intended to harm you and to harm your friend. I'm impressed, and if anything, I hold you in higher esteem. Of all people, I know that what you went through that night is exceptionally difficult to process. If all of the effort and expense I've committed to creating Rangeman comes down to only helping you, it will be worth it. We all struggle sometimes, and I'm amazed you've survived alone as long as you have," Carlos says. I'm completely still. Carlos moves to sit on his hip, his body forming a curve around my curled frame. He reaches out, and with a calloused thumb wipes away my tears.

"Let me love you as unconditionally as you love everyone else, and as you deserve to be loved," he says passionately.

I nod yes, words failing me, and he gently reaches forward to pull me into him. I don't open my posture or work to return the embrace. It's enough right now for him to cradle me. I've never been the one to initiate physical contact, and I'm too drained to reach outside of myself. I need to be. I allow my head to rest against his body, and I inhale deeply, breathing out slowing, letting each breath I exhale pull me closer to him.

As we sit there, I turn my attention inward, focusing on the sensations of his touch against my body. I feel his warmth spread across my skin and become absorbed. I start to relax, and I begin to know what it feels like to be loved.

We stay that way without any need to break apart, letting the moment develop organically. After some time, I whisper, "I love you, Carlos."

He tightens his grip on me slightly and with a voice that is swarming with emotion says, "Oh, Babe. I love you more than I could have ever imagined loving anyone." He kisses the top of my head, and it feels like a spark of peace to my tormented soul.

With one last big breath, I pull away. I clasp my hands in my lap, but I look at Carlos with a shy smile. He blinds me with a smile of his own and leans forward to kiss my forehead. He pulls back and looks at me again, his smile faltering slightly. "How are you feeling, Babe?" he asks.

I shrug. "I've been better, and I've been worse," I say evenly. "Let's get some coffee." He nods in agreement, and I retreat to the bathroom.

I look in the mirror, and my honest assessment is that I look like crap. I wander into the closet and change into some black leggings and a long-sleeved turquoise tunic with thick black fuzzy socks. I dig my concealer out of my make-up bag. After washing up, I attempt to hide the dark circles under my eyes, made worse by my pale complexion. When done, I feel ready to face my army.

 **Ranger POV**

I'm in and out of the closet in seconds, changing into my daily uniform of black cargo pants and t-shirt. I go into the kitchen while Steph finishes getting ready for the day, and Lester, Bobby, and Hector greet me.

"Morning, Ranger," says Bobby. "How's Bomber?"

"A good as can be expected," I reply. "I'm pretty sure Steph has a fever, but she won't admit to being sick." I turn and look at Lester. "What did you get her to eat yesterday?"

He moves to the fridge and begins pulling out yogurt. Bobby chuckles and pushes a bag across the counter. "Boston crèmes, Jersey fresh," he says. I put them on a plate next to the parfait along with a fresh cup of doctored coffee and assemble it at the breakfast bar. At this point, I wouldn't complain about a pantry filled with pastries if it meant Steph was eating.

"We will meet in my office this morning to begin making a plan of action," I say. Hector continues staring at me, Bobby nods in acknowledgment and Lester grunts, "Hooah."

I watch as Steph enters the room and silently sits onto the barstool. She looks around at everyone and mumbles good morning before sipping the coffee we left doctored for her on the counter. Bobby raises an eyebrow in surprise. The three of us are more used to her subdued demeanor at this point, but he's never seen her not squeal in delight at a donut before. He looks at me, and I set my lips in a thin line in reply.

Lester does what Lester does best, running his mouth. He regales us with a story of a seagull eating a hot dog right out of his mouth and him catching the bird by the neck to force it to give it back, complete with squawking sound effects. Steph is smiling by the end, and it makes my heart glow.

After the laughter fades, Steph sets down her spoon, more yogurt remaining than not. "I'm sure you guys need to spend some time talking about me. I'm tired, and I don't want to participate in the conversation. I only ask that you don't do anything without consulting me first," she says before standing, the donuts left untouched on her plate. "Do you have a TV in this place?" she asks. I place my hand on the small of her back before leading her to the first room beyond the living room. Inside is a media room with several couches in the middle of the room facing a big screen TV equipped with several entertainment systems. There is a pool table in the back with a poker table beside it.

"What would you like to watch, Babe?" I ask, pulling out a blanket and tucking it around her.

"Do you have _Ghostbusters_?" she asks. I smile, pulling up my digital movie library. I bought it years ago with her in mind.

I pull a bottle of water from the under counter refrigerator in the small wet bar. "Can I get you anything else?" I follow up.

I crouch beside her, brushing an errant curl across her forehead. Yes, she has a fever. Steph mumbles no with half closed eyes.

"Babe," I say in a firm tone, using my hand to direct her gaze to match mine. "If you need anything, no matter how small, ask me. Do you understand?" She nods yes. I kiss her forehead.

I retreat from the room, dimming the lights as I leave. I pause at the door to say, "Love you, Babe."

"Love you," comes the soft response, and it makes the edges of my mouth curl in a smile.

I stride down the hall to my office and find my men are already waiting. I sit at my desk and pull up the security feed to the media room on the corner of my desktop, seeing Steph already asleep.

I turn to face them. "Report," I command.

Bobby begins. "Tank and I went to Steph's apartment along with Binky to begin packing up her belongings yesterday afternoon. When we arrived, the door had been kicked in. We found most of Bomber's property destroyed. Someone smashed everything breakable, and all textiles are covered in animal shit, soaked in urine or slashed. The word 'snitch' was spray painted multiple times around the apartment. We conducted the preliminary forensic investigation before calling Trenton PD in, but the first round of tests came back last night inconclusive."

"Fuck!" Lester exclaims, his fists clenched and making no attempt to hide the rage on his face.

Tank contacted me yesterday with this information, but I haven't reviewed the evidence file yet. Now is the first time that Lester and Hector are hearing of it. Hector is rigid with his jaw set. I log into the Rangeman servers and find a shared file of the photos, evidence logs, and test results. I turn the second monitor towards them as I scroll through the images. I pause on the pictures of a pile of soiled panties, and I dig deep to control my anger. The damage is extensive, and the way someone destroyed her home has the appearance of a personal vendetta. I do not doubt that Morelli is behind it, but we need to prove it.

Unfortunately, the destruction of Steph's apartment is a regular occurrence, but it's the last thing she needs to deal with right now. I'm not looking forward to breaking the news to her, yet I know the longer I put it off, the angrier she will be.

"I brought the few salvageable items with me," Bobby adds. I nod, and I know Bobby understands my unspoken thanks.

"How are things going with Stephanie's family?" I follow up.

"It was a shit show when Tank and I retrieved Rex. She didn't have anything else there, or not that we could see. Her mother refused to let us in, screaming for all the neighbors to hear that her daughter's kidnappers were attempting to break in. Steph's father refused to look up from the television, and her grandmother decided she was James Bond or something. To her credit, Mrs. Mazur independently worked with us on, her code name, Operation Rescue Rex. Tank ended up climbing the roof to pull the hamster out via the bathroom window. I don't know how, but he still ended up getting his junk fondled," Bobby said while shaking his head before continuing. "Rex is officially the breakroom mascot at Rangeman. Tank was wearing his body cam, and the footage is in the file."

I'm suppressing my desire to do a Steph-like eye roll. Her family is ridiculous. Tank confirmed Operation Rex Rescue was a success Monday evening, but he left out these details. I'll need to increase Tank's bonus this month, not that he is likely to accept it.

"Tank and I finished canvassing around 40% of the public men's restrooms in Trenton. We found three messages, and we documented each message with a proper chain of custody before removing the offensive words. I expect all the bathrooms of Trenton to be free from Morelli's 'poetry' by the weeks' end. Tank is pretty fired up about it," he says professionally. I open the second file. I haven't read any of the graffiti yet, but as I begin, the verbiage has red spots flashing in front of my eyes. Raping Steph is what gave that fucking bastard the inspiration to call her Cupcake.

" _Puta Madre,"_ growls Lester. My blank face is firmly in place, but I agree wholeheartedly with my cousin. Morelli is a vulgar mother fucker. What in the holy hell would possess a man to write this crap all over town after having sex with a woman?

I glance at Hector, and although he remains silent, I see the dangerous anger glinting in his eyes.

"Good," I state. "Tank forwarded an additional report to me this morning. The restroom canvassing is complete," I add before continuing. "What have you heard about the betting investigation at the police station?"

"The Chief is looking into things quickly," Bobby replies. "Juniak lit a fire under his ass. Rumor is Morelli's badge is in question. I think the investigation will be wrapped up by Thursday, Friday at the latest." I make a mental note to contact Juniak by tomorrow.

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy." Lester's voice has a sharp edge.

" _Gallipolis,"_ says Hector. Bobby snorts. I'm coming to appreciate that when Hector speaks, it's on the nose. Idiot is right.

"We've had surveillance on Morelli since Sunday evening," Bobby continues. "We spotted him with Terry Gillman, Lula, Robbin Russell and Kathryn Ricci, another member of the Trenton PD. What photographic or physical evidence we were able to obtain is in the file. Rodriguez is running a background check. It's partially complete, but he's verifying some of the information. There isn't a smoking gun yet, so to speak."

I nod and reach into my desk drawer, turning on Steph's phone. "Steph gave me her phone. I review the messages daily, then forward some for our evidence log and reply to others as necessary," I say in response to the questioning faces.

I look at the screen and see 32 voice messages and more than one hundred text messages. I turn the screen so my men can see. Lester radiates astonishment, saying, "What the hell? I don't get that many messages in a month!"

"This is how much Steph deals with daily whenever something happens in her life. I took over so she can focus on herself," I reply, hitting play. Fifty-five painful minutes later we finally finish listening. All of us look like we want to empty a clip into the phone. Lester is trembling with the effort to control his anger.

Most of the messages are complete nosey bullshit. There are two I forward to Tank.

 _ **Tuesday, September 18**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 9:57 am:**_ _"Stephanie, why the hell is the Chief calling me into his office to discuss Precinct betting on your stupid ass incompetency? Any betting that happens is your damn fault for doing a job you are completely incapable of doing. You refuse to quit and let the professionals take care of things, and as a result, place all of us in more danger due to your constant car bombs, kidnappings, and other bullshit. So what, if after risking their lives for you, they blow off steam with a few bucks exchanged? If you had any class at all, you'd be throwing in! On top of it, you fucking disappear, with no regard for your poor family who is worried sick about your safety. I mean, you take a fucking vacation, and while hiding like a rat, set out to destroy the reputations of the only men who have your back. Cupcake, you are going to have to work to set things right between us again. I expect a hell of a lot of groveling, not just to me, but to anyone implicated at work."_

 _ **Tuesday, September 18**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 6:48 pm: "**_ _Stephanie Michelle Plum, it's your mother. You have made some pretty horrible decisions, but we have always tried to stand up for you and defend your honor as a member of this family. We have always tried to love you even when you make choices that are unlovable. You live a life that is going to put me into an early grave due to worrying about you. Then, after all of your failures, Joseph is willing to take you back into his life and provide a stable and respectable home for you. How do you repay all of our generosity? You have him investigated at work. You have my home invaded by those thugs you consort with after you disappear, and once again, leave the work of picking up the pieces of your disasters to the ones left behind. You can forget about pineapple upside-down cake for the foreseeable future. You will need to earn it back, beginning by coming home and picking up the pieces yourself!"_

"Ranger, I am having a difficult time justifying sitting here and doing nothing while _Morelli_ and _Ellen Plum_ continue to spew their ugly rants freely," Lester spits out emphatically.

I sit back in my chair, considering all the information gathered so far. "I am going to review the necessary details with Steph, and with her approval, we are going to enact hangman protocol," I say evenly. "Let's focus on Morelli first, and we will systemically destroy his life. I don't want to kill him; I want him to suffer as he made others suffer. There are things worse than death." Hector smiles.

"The first step is already underway as we gather intel via Rodriguez's search, Tank and Bobby's canvassing of Trenton, the surveillance teams' efforts, and Juniak's cooperation. We'll be able to execute step two by the end of the week," I say authoritatively. "Report your individual ideas to strengthen the plan."

My periphery catches movement on the feed from the media room. "Dismissed," I say. Lester and Hector head down the gym while Bobby walks with me.

Steph is sitting up on the couch, half awake, cheeks flushed and eyes unfocused. I signal Bobby to remain by the door as I move to sit beside her. She blinks rapidly before sagging in relief. I place her pillow on my lap, and she wordlessly lays down again. I stroke her warm forehead, brushing the curls behind her ear. "How are you doing, Babe?" I probe gently.

"More of the same," she replies, and I'm surprised at how calm she sounds. "I'm glad you're here," Steph adds in a smaller voice.

"Me, too," I say, and I mean it. I'm not only grateful to feel useful by merely being here for my Babe, but she is also grounding me after Bobby's challenging debrief. I maintain an impassive demeanor in front of my men, but inside, I'm as enraged as Lester, if not more so.

"How are you feeling?" I ask more directly.

"Like crap," she admits. "I always seem to get sick when things are emotionally challenging, and I think the past few days qualify."

I nod once at Bobby, and he leaves, returning a couple of minutes later with his bag. "Hey Bomber," he says kindly. Steph cuts her eyes to him.

"Hey Bobby," she says. "Didn't want to be left out of this good time, eh?"

Bobby chuckles. "It's alright, Bomber. Friends are there for the ups and downs, especially the down. Mind if I take a look at you?"

Steph sighs and sits up. I expected her to push-back more, resist having Bobby examine her. She either feels worse than I thought or she's taking her health and recovery seriously. I'm leaning towards the latter. I watch as Bobby takes her vitals. "Do you know your weight?" he asks.

Steph shrugs, "I'm not sure. One-teens, I guess." I frown. She lost more weight than I thought.

"Bomber, you're underweight for your height," Bobby says in a no-nonsense but gentle tone.

Bobby motions for Stephanie to lift her shirt, and when she lifts the back of her shirt so he can check her lungs sound, Bobby raises an eyebrow at me after noticing the healing patches of her skin. I shake my head no slightly, and he doesn't ask questions. Bobby takes a couple of notes and sits back on the couch.

"You have a fever, but it isn't serious. When the body is under stress, the immune system can often be depressed. If you take care of yourself, you'll recover in a day or two. As for your skin, I can give you an ointment that will speed up healing and prevent scarring," Bobby says in full doctor mode.

Steph is looking down her hands clasped together. Bobby reaches out and gently cups her hands with his. "I'm concerned about your weight and diet. Why aren't you eating, Bomber?" he asks with soft compassion.

I wrap my arm around Steph's shoulder. I can feel the tension in her body. Steph is considering her words carefully, and when she starts talking, it's with more passion and energy than I expected her to muster. "I'm not trying to avoid food! I'm not! I can't eat as much you guys seems to want! I'm perfectly aware all of you look at my plate and judge me. I had an epiphany a couple of months ago, and it's destroyed my appetite. When I try to eat more than a few bites, I feel ill. I've eaten more in the last few days than I have in some time." She pauses for air, and when she continues, her voice cracks and her tone is pleading. "I'm genuinely trying, although I know you both don't believe me. I'm sorry. I don't want to cause you to worry. I'll try harder." I squeeze her shoulder, kissing the top of her head, trying to extend any comfort.

"Babe, we aren't judging you. We care about you," I soothe.

"Bomber, what was your epiphany?" Bobby presses with kind curiosity.

"The Burg, my family, they use food as power. They use it to control social situations, and my mother especially has used food to manipulate me my whole life. My favorite dessert is a weapon of compliance and acceptance. If I'm "good" and behaving in a socially acceptable manner, then I'm treated, in this case, literally well. If I or my behavior is considered negative by Burg standards, I'm held accountable at the table, but this time with an empty dinner plate, and I went to bed hungry a lot as a kid. Hell, the nickname Morelli gave me is Cupcake!" Steph cries, tears streaming silently down her face.

I frown, realizing she is right, and I know I've often done the same thing. I push my healthy choices towards her, and I attempt to control her by applying pressure on the less healthy choices I perceive she makes. "I'm sorry, Babe," I reply contritely. "I haven't always done the right thing by you on that account either. I'm glad you are saying something."

Bobby hands Steph a tissue before sitting back. "What foods do you like to eat? What would make dining less of a stressful time for you and give you back that sense of control?" he asks gently.

"I want nothing that my mother would typically serve at her table," she says emphatically. Then she glances up at me, smiling timidly. "I wasn't polite at dinner the last two nights. I enjoyed the Cuban cuisine, and I especially loved that you shared some of your life and culture with me," Steph says.

I smile in return, saying, "We can have as much as you like, Babe, and I can teach you how to make some of the dishes."

"That would be nice," she replies. "I've also been eating healthier lately, mainly because it's the exact opposite of how I grew up. Food is rich and heavy in the Burg."

"Okay, Bomber. Would you be willing to eat six small meals a day instead of three big ones as we work to increase your calorie count again?" Steph nods her head, yes, and Bobby leaves to make lunch.

I wrap my arms around Steph, her back against my chest, and I feel her melt into my embrace. "I'm proud of you, Babe," I say quietly, kissing her head. "In the span of a few days you've opened up, acknowledged areas you need help in, have asked for that help, and are making important steps towards healing. Those are difficult things to do."

"Thank you, Carlos, for coming to be with me and for loving me enough to stay. I wouldn't be able to do what I've done so far without you," Steph replies sincerely.

"Babe, how would you feel if I asked Dr. Anderson to come to the house this afternoon for your appointment? She can check in with you for as short or long a session as you are up to," I ask. Steph is not in great shape to travel today, but nor do I want to derail her treatment plan.

Steph yawns, shifting to lay with her head on my lap again, pulling the blanket tightly around herself. "That would be good. You think of everything," she mumbles before falling asleep again.

I lean my head back, closing my eyes, content with the slow progress of the morning.


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Happy Halloween! Here's a fun treat for you! Thank you so much for your reviews and encouragement. It feeds my creative soul.

Many thanks again to misty23y for her diligent editing. She's been especially wonderful paying attention to the details as I get my head screwed on right again.

* * *

 **Chapter 35**

Date/Time Stamp: Wednesday, 19 SEP 1200-1445

 **Stephanie POV**

In what feels like only a second later, Carlos is gently urging me to wake. I blink away the haze of deep sleep, my vision slowly focusing on mocha latte skin, deep brown eyes and the small smile only I get to see. I give a small smile in return before closing my eyes again and groaning.

Carlos chuckles underneath me. "Babe," he says while rubbing my arms and kissing my forehead. "Dr. Anderson will be here in two hours. I want to give you time to eat, and I'd like to have an opportunity to talk before she arrives."

I suppress another groan. My greatest desire at the moment is to continue sleeping in a cocoon of Carlos and me. However, I know he wouldn't ask it of me if it wasn't important. I blink my eyes open again and shift to sit up, stretching my aching limbs as I do so. "Let's do it," I say. Carlos stands and holds his hand out to me, and I gratefully take it as I rise after him.

I want to show Carlos I am determined to do better and to be a stronger more mature person. He's accepted and embraced me despite every curveball I've thrown at him. It would appear my first reckoning ground is lunch. Someone has thoughtfully prepared what I deduct is the Cuban version of minestrone. It has a slight kick, and the warm vegetable broth is soothing to my sore throat. Carlos joins me, and we eat in quiet company. I finish the modest bowl, and I see his smile of appreciation. "Thank you," I say quietly. "That hit the spot."

"Would you like anything else?" he asks.

I ask for tea, and we rise together. Carlos fills and sets the tea kettle on the stove. As we wait for the water to boil, he shows me the ins and outs of where things are in the kitchen. When the tea bag is seeping, aromatically filling the air with scents of chamomile, ginger, and lemon, I move towards Carlos, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting the side of my head on his chest. I am not going to complain, but this cold combined with the past few days has me dead on my feet, and I feel drained emotionally. His warmth and presence feel like a lifeline in the rough waters I've been navigating.

After a long minute, I break the embrace. Looking up, I say, "I love you. I'm glad to be here with you, but I'm going to take a moment for myself. Where should I meet you for the conversation you need to have?"

" _Querida, te quiero._ Do you know where my office is?" he says gently.

I nod yes, take my tea and make my way to the master bedroom. I'm freezing, probably a result of the fever, and I pad into the closet for Carlos's hoodie. I use the restroom, and seeing the 360-degree madness of my hair, pull it into a loose ponytail. I still look terrible, but the effort has me feeling more mentally prepared. I pull the hood up and make my way down the hall, warming my hands on the mug.

I meet Bobby in the kitchen, and he joins me on my trek. "How're you feeling, Bomber?" he asks kindly.

I feel like this is another old Stephanie, new Stephanie moment, and I'm proud again of the progress I'm making to be more mature. Previously, I would have brushed Bobby off, not considering that I was hurting myself by preventing care and hurting Bobby by blocking his attempts at friendship and causing unnecessary worry. This time, I give honesty its due.

"Thank you for coming down here, Bobby. I'm learning a lot about who my friends and support network are. I'm glad you're here and that you care about me," I start. I feel his eyes boring into me in surprise. "I feel run-down. I'm grateful Dr. Anderson is coming here today, and I intend to rest once these meetings are complete."

We enter Carlos's office, and I stop in the doorway to take it in. On the far end is a massive mahogany desk, that, while having clean and simple dimensions, manages to look strong and subtly elegant. The wall behind the desk is floor to ceiling books, with occasional pictures and mementos placed on the shelves. There are people I recognize, such as Julie and the Core Team, and others I don't, but, based on the physical resemblance to Carlos, I assume are family.

There is a black leather couch against the opposing wall with additional bookshelves. The picture above the sofa is a striking oil painting of a boat fighting through rough seas, but with clear, calm weather breaking out behind it. There is a long, rectangular window paralleling the ceiling on the wall opposite the door that shows glimpses of the garden outside. Framing Carlos' desk is two additional plush leather chairs that match the room exactly. It's a professional yet intimate space.

Carlos is working on his computer and looks up as we take a seat. Bobby shifts his eyes between Carlos and myself, saying, "If it's alright with both of you, I'd like to do another set of vitals." Carlos looks at me, and I surmise he is relieved as I give my consent. Bobby is efficient, and I'm not surprised when he says the fever has risen. He looks directly at Carlos, "Please make this short, and I suggest an abbreviated visit with Dr. Anderson. Steph needs rest." Carlos nods once, and Bobby passes a couple of pills my way before leaving.

Carlos stands and directs both of us to the couch. We sit facing each other, and he takes my hands before beginning, "Babe, you've stated you want to be involved in decision making, and as such, there are a couple of things I need to discuss with you. Late yesterday I was notified that someone once again broke into your apartment. The damage is extensive. Most of your property is either soiled with excrement, smashed, or slashed. Spray paint messages around the room repeat the word 'snitch.' Bobby saved whatever was salvageable and brought it here with him. Rangeman conducted the initial forensics before calling in TPD to open a joint investigation between both the Trenton PD and Rangeman. I'm sorry. I know how much you value your space, and how hard you worked to earn those belongings."

Tears smart my eyes in spite of myself. I've suffered extensive property loss before, and it is never any less painful. While many things are just that, things, some stuff begins to have memories built around it, becomes an instant favorite or ultimately can't be replaced. I was willing to separate with most of it, but I wanted to make that choice, not have someone make it for me. It's the violation behind the loss that hurts the most, and this violation was intended to hurt me.

"Do you have any leads?" I ask, and my voice is shaky with emotion.

"Nothing conclusive, but based on several escalating voice messages you've received from Morelli, he is our primary suspect," Carlos says, empathy clear on his face.

"Anything else?" I follow-up, wanting to get all the bad news over with at once.

Carlos sets his jaw, then continues, "The Chief is investigating the betting at the station. Based on interviews so far, it appears as though Morelli was the ringleader in the continual betting against you, something he denies. I'll be speaking with Juniak tomorrow morning, but I expect the investigation to be complete by Friday."

My jaw drops open, and I'm too shocked to say anything for a second. I knew Morelli hated my job, that he wanted me to quit, but that he actively worked against my success by hindering my relationship with the police department and tarnishing my reputation is an unexpected betrayal. I close my mouth and sigh heavily. I guess that tiger never changed his stripes after all; it just took me a while to see them.

Carlos squeezes my hands. I'm sure relaying this information is weighing on him as well, and I again appreciate his companionship. "Okay, what else?" I press.

"I'm going to tell you the next piece of information now so that you don't hear about it in some other manner. Since we began surveillance, Morelli has been documented having sexual relations with multiple women," Carlos says, his eyes never leaving mine.

I consider immediately pressing him for the who, what, when, but then I realize, I don't want to know. At least not right now. It's enough to know how insincere his pathetic attempts to woo me back are. This conversation is serving as a painful reminder that when I lived in denial land, I prevented myself from seeing the world as it was, and the person I hurt was myself. I press my lips together and nod my head, indicating Carlos should continue.

"Tank and Bobby canvassed nearly half the restrooms in the Burg, and Tank finished the task last night. They documented and destroyed eight messages left by Morelli." Carlos pauses, and I assume he sees the words in his mind. "I'm again sorry, Babe, that you had to see and deal with that. _No one_ should ever treat someone else that way," Carlos continues, his voice rich with emotion.

I shrug and look away. "Sometimes I think everyone sees me that way," I quietly confess.

Carlos gently places a hand under my chin and redirects my gaze. "I don't, and no one here does," he says seriously.

"I know, but I'm still learning," I say humbly. "How's Rex?"

Carlos nearly rolls his eyes, and it's possibly the most astounding moment of the conversation. "Rex is being spoiled as the Rangeman mascot, safe in the building. Your mother was opposed to us taking him, your father indifferent, and your Grandmother stepped up, enlisting Tank and Bobby in, her words, Operation Rescue Rex. She snuck Rex out the bathroom window and still managed to cop a feel on Tank," he finishes with a grimace.

I giggle, and Carlos kisses my forehead. When he pulls back, his face is serious again. "I'd like to enact what Rangeman calls hangman protocol," he says, explaining the general outline of the plan. It's good, but I can see how to make it stronger. I'm ready for Morelli to fall. It looks like I'll be doing a little more confessing today, but at least this time it's for the better.

"Could you please have the guys come in here?" I ask, moving to the chair closest to Carlos's desk. He looks at me quizzically, but within a minute everyone is gathered. "Hector, will you please log into the Rangeman servers from your account?"

No one is attempting to hide their curiosity anymore. Carlos turns the monitor and pushes the keyboard and mouse towards Hector. As he logs in, I begin to explain. "As you know, I've been a bit more paranoid and security conscious these past few months. While I knew you would do anything I asked, especially in regards to beefing up security at my apartment, I wasn't ready to let on what was going on in my life. In an attempt at curing my insomnia, I began reading the most boring things I could think of, including every item of junk mail sent to my apartment. While at Rangeman, I tend to spend a fair amount of time in the server rooms or technology office visiting Hector, and I picked up some of the tech manuals, instructions, and policies. I borrowed some of the smallest security cameras from the equipment room and installed them myself," I say, seeing curiosity turning to surprise.

I turn my gaze to Hector with an apologetic expression. "I needed someplace to have the data stored, but the manuals only include procedures within Rangeman's network. I figured out your password by watching your keystrokes and hid a file on the server. I'm sorry for hacking your network," I say sheepishly. Hector grinned in admiration, and if I'm not mistaken, pride.

"Beautiful, are you telling us you used sleepless nights as an opportunity to learn network security? And then you used it against us?" Lester asks in astonishment while Bobby chuckles under his breath.

"You never disappoint, Babe," Carlos says.

I shrug, slightly embarrassed at the whole thing, and give Hector the file address. Seconds later we are watching a color video in high definition of Morelli pissing on my bed. He has a duffle bag with him, and he puts on gloves before opening bag after bag of dog poop, the individual kind people use to collect and dispose of animal waste near parks. I pale as he opens my underwear drawer, picks up a pair of panties and uses it as a rag to smear the shit like finger paint across my home. I'm fixated on the underwear, my horror causing my throat to tighten and my core becomes numb. They are blue. I feel my shame and sense of deep violation increase as I realize it's the panties I was wearing the last time we had sex. Morelli picks up a vase from my dresser and violently throws it across the room, continuing with the picture frames beside it. He strides out of the room and returns with a kitchen knife, slashing my clothes at random. I see him pull a spray can out of the duffle bag, and I force myself to meet Carlos' eye. He pauses the video. I take a deep breath to steady myself, but my stomach remains tightly clenched.

"Morelli, as you know, has Bob, and there are a few community poop pails at the neighborhood park between his house and Mooch's. His brother, Anthony, has a German Shepherd, and Mooch has a pit bull. It's likely, should doggy DNA be necessary, that there's a match implicating at least one of them. I think this should give you what you need to execute your plan," I say in as straightforward a tone as I can before I stand and leaving the room. I need air, and I need to lay down.

I stop outside the door to place my hand against the wall for support. For the sake of moving the conversation along productively, I set my feelings aside, but I can feel the dam threatening to break again. My vision is tunneling, and I take a deep breath to steady myself. "Babe, are you okay?" I hear Carlos ask. I shake my head no. I don't even want to pretend I can handle this on my own, and it's an incredible relief to know I don't have to anymore. Strong arms pick me up, and I feel instantly safer and loved. I grip Carlos' shirt as the tears begin the fall.

He carries us to our bed and continues to hold me as he rests against the headboard, murmuring to me in Spanish. I find my thoughts beginning to settle in the security of the moment, but the order in which they fall is chaotic. "You're not mad, are you?" I weep out, needing to hear the answer I already know. "I know stealing the cameras and installing them on the network was deceitful of me and an abuse of my employment with you. I'm sorry."

Carlos kisses my curls, holding it as he breathes against my hair. "No, _Quierda_ , not at all. I'm proud of you for protecting yourself. The video you collected is the evidence we needed to convict Morelli. If you feel unsafe, however, please talk to me. I'm always willing to help," he says gently.

"I know, I'm sorry. I will in the future," I say contritely. "I don't understand why Morelli did what he did to my apartment. I mean, on the one hand, he says he wants me back, but his actions show an outright hatred of me, even loathing. I don't know what I did to make him feel that way about me, and I don't understand why he can get away such behavior over and over again without anyone calling him on his bullshit."

"Babe, his days of getting away with shit are coming to a close, thanks to you," Carlos says before kissing my forehead once again.

I curl my body into him more tightly, and he pulls up the blanket while keeping the other arm secure on my torso. I quietly cry, releasing the loss, betrayal, and anger of the afternoon, letting it go instead of holding it in. I gradually calm, and as I begin to fall asleep, Carlos kisses me again while nudging me slightly. " _Quierda_ , Dr. Anderson will be here in 15 minutes. Are you up to talking with her, even for a short while?" he gently asks.

I yawn. "Yes, but not for an hour. You were right to bring up the news from home before our meeting. Please, be there with me? I want to lean on you," I say quietly. Carlos envelops me in his embrace.

"Of course," he says in a deep voice. "Thank you for asking."

We relocate to the couch in Carlos's office as Bobby escorts in Dr. Anderson. She turns one of the desk chairs to sit and face us.

"Hello, Stephanie. I'm sorry you aren't feeling well, but I'm glad we were able to find a way to meet. I understand it's been an eventful 24 hours. Is there anything you would like to talk about?" she begins in her tone of professional compassion.

I lay out the details in broad strokes, but I take the time to pause and express how I feel. I'm only beginning to absorb the impact of Carlos' updates from Trenton. I zero in on my relief the bathroom messages are gone as well as my deep sense of betrayal and loss at Joe's actions, from leading the station betting to sleeping around so prolifically when he says he wants me back to the attack at my home. I feel violated in every sense, and I doubt my judgment. Dr. Anderson asks open-ended questions, but I can tell she is working to show me my feelings are valid and that Joe's actions aren't my responsibility. I also explain how her diagnosis feels like a heavy label, but that I am willing to embrace the work it takes to heal. We keep the session to a half an hour, but by the end, I feel my perspectives sharpening and overall more in control.

"I recommend that as you continue to process all of this to write it down in a journal. Many patients find that the process of organizing their thoughts into writing and then reviewing it later helps them heal and gain a new understanding. Please rest, and take care of yourself, Stephanie," Dr. Anderson kindly orders before standing. Carlos stands with me, my silent rock through the entire session, and I hold his hand.

"Thank you, I will," I reply.

Carlos and I return to the bedroom. I take a trip through the restroom, and when I return, there is tea, a bottle of water and a fruit salad with a ham and cheese sandwich on a croissant waiting for me, beautifully assembled on a tray, resting on the nightstand. "Where would you like to eat?" Carlos asks.

I point to the patio, and I sit in one of two chairs near the circular café table. The sun is beginning to set, and the view is cathartic. I eat in silence, appreciating Carlos's presence. I finish, stand and stop in front of him, who immediately stands to embrace me. I breathe in the faint smell of Bulgari and pure Carlos, and I exhale my remaining stress away for the moment. "Thank you for being here, and thank you for being you. I love you, and I appreciate everything you are doing to help me," I say into his chest.

"No price, Babe," he says, kissing my curls, and I savor the tingle that follows all the way down to my toes. "I love you, too."

I take his hand and lead us to the bed. "Stick a fork in me; I'm done," I declare, collapsing into the bed. I get comfortable, burying myself in the fluffy blanket. "It's early for you. I'm sure you have things you need to do. I promise to find you if I need anything."

"I'm never too busy for you, Babe," he says, curling up next to me in the bed.

I drift asleep instantly.


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Friday fun-day! To each of you, who amaze me with their passion and interest in this story, I'm so grateful for your views, conversation, and kind words. Thank you!

I have to say it every chapter, and I think it's increasingly true each week. Thank you, misty23y, for your investment in the quality and success of this story.

* * *

 **Chapter 36**

Date/Time Stamp: Wednesday, 19 SEP 1500-2000

 **Ranger POV**

Steph falls asleep almost instantly, and I stay beside her, letting her presence ground me. I'm extremely impressed with the way Steph handled everything today. She didn't bury her feelings, but she didn't let them take over either. It's fitting that her cleverness is what will ultimately lead to Morelli's demise.

This incredible woman seems to have no limit to her ability to surprise me. Suspecting Morelli was behind the destruction of Steph's apartment and seeing it is two different things. I found myself fixated on the screen, my anger barely in control. When I glanced over and saw Steph's face, I immediately paused the feed, and I wish I had done so sooner. She excused herself with grace, but she looked stricken. I'm touched again by her newfound trust in me that she accepted my presence in the hallway rather than push me away when she feels vulnerable as has happened so often in the past.

I glance at my watch and see it's a little after 1500. I steadily extract myself from the bed and tuck the blankets around Steph before kissing her curls and silently leave the room. I meet Lester in the kitchen.

"How's Beautiful?" he asks, concern written across his face.

"She's handling everything. Resting now," I reply. "Gather everyone up and meet me in my office."

I settle into my desk again and pull up the camera feed for the kitchen toward the hall to the master and minimize it in the corner of my screen. I don't have a camera in my room, but at least I'll know if Steph gets up.

I'm reading the latest surveillance reports from Tank as Lester, Bobby and Hector settle into chairs before me. Hector surprises me by speaking first.

"I finished watching Steph's security camera footage," he begins in Spanish. "It's incriminating, and we don't need to watch any more of it right now to gain any additional information. I packaged the incident into a single video file and added it to the investigation folder."

I nod in acknowledgment at his foresight and efficiency, locating the video on the share drive.

"Steph's hacking of our network gave me an idea," Hector continues. "I downloaded Morelli's phone records for Monday evening. He called Mooch at 9:46 p.m. and surveillance observed Mooch arriving at Morelli's house at 10 pm. I downloaded a record of all Rangeman monitored properties in the Burg and narrowed the list down to those between any conceivable route between their two houses with the dog park Estefania mentioned as a stopping point. We have the government contract for security monitoring of all city-owned properties in Trenton. Open that file," he finishes, pointing at my screen.

A black and white video plays of Mooch recklessly driving into the park and knocking over a trash can with his truck before stopping. He stomps out, leaving the engine running. The video feed switches to a new camera, and we see him entering from a corner of the screen and emptying the animal waste pail into a duffle bag. He repeats the same actions at a second pail before getting back into the truck and careening out of the parking lot.

"I'm going to do the same thing to track Morelli and Mooch's movements between his house and Estefania's apartment. It will take longer for me to track the footage between Morelli's and Estefania's then it took for me to track Mooch since the distance between the two locations is greater," Hector states.

"Good work," I say, impressed at how quickly Hector put this data together. I send a quick e-mail to Tank with the video information.

"I don't know how you are going to keep Tank from killing Morelli once he sees that video," Lester states, his eyes flashing. "The only reason I haven't done it myself is geography."

"Tank knows the endgame," I say evenly, and Bobby nods his head in agreement. "I'll be contacting Juniak shortly, and I expect step one of our plan will wrap up faster than expected due to Steph's ingenuity. Dismissed."

I take out my cell phone and call Tank once the door closes behind me.

"Ranger, so help me, I'm running out of reasons not to kill the son of a bitch tonight," Tank answers on the first ring. "How did we get this video footage? We don't have cameras in Little Girl's apartment."

"Steph installed the cameras herself and hacked our network to store the data," I say and smile to myself at Tank's silence.

"I'll be damned," he finally says, dumbfounded.

"Hector spliced the second video together from various surveillance feeds we have contracted around town. It shows Mooch gathering the shit from a local dog park. He's working now to track their movements to Steph's apartment," I report.

"Little Girl cracked the case," Tank says, his voice an odd combination of anger at the video I can hear in the background and amazement at Rangeman's Wonder Woman.

"Any developments today?" I prod.

"None I haven't reported, but I assume we are turning this data over to Kovacs," Tank replies.

"Yes, but first I'm going to speak with Juniak," I state.

"Good. I'll be standing by," Tank affirms, and we end the call.

I dial Juniak immediately. "Good afternoon, Ranger. I was just about to call you with an update," he says quickly, his ordinarily jovial voice serious.

"Good afternoon as well, Senator. Why don't you go first?" I reply.

I hear Juniak sigh heavily. "I joined Chief Kovacs in interviewing Detective Morelli yesterday. I'm certain he didn't say one truthful thing. Of course, Morelli denied knowing anything. The interview was drawn out to be unnecessarily long. Multiple members of the department had already informed us that Morelli maintains the betting books and cash. The Deputy Chief and Officer Gazarra searched his office. They discovered the books and cash as well as a journal in a hidden compartment he created in a locked desk drawer," the Senator reports, then stops to take a deep breath. When he speaks again, I hear his anger loud and clear despite the steady volume and cadence of his words.

"The journal is what is keeping the investigation open," Juniak continues heavily, and my heart sinks. "The book appears to be a detailed written record of every person he has had sexual contact with, beginning with Stephanie at age six." The Senator pauses, and I know when he continues, I'm speaking with Steph's godfather. "I had no idea, Ranger. And to think Stephanie's mother has been pushing that bastard on her all this time. I can't imagine what she is going through."

Morelli kept a record of his deeds? The man is stupider than I thought, and I can't believe I once considered him a decent cop. "I know," I reply, my voice even but serious. "It's part of the reason we are in Miami now. She is going through a rough time, but she is a strong person with a great support network. Steph will be okay."

"You're a good man, Ranger. Thank you," Juniak replies. When he continues, his voice simmers with anger. "The journal indicates, that among others, he has been having relations with two women in the TPD. Those relationships, as you know, is fraternization and gross misconduct. The women involved have interviews scheduled for today. The investigation and related consequences will be subsequently forthcoming."

"Rangeman has, as you know, been conducting surveillance on Morelli since Sunday evening. We have documented him with Officers Kathryn Ricci and Robin Russell at a motel and cataloged physical evidence. Tank will be turning the evidence over to Kovacs in support of your case," I state professionally with my hand balled into a fist as the only sign of my anger and frustration. "We have also made a break concerning the culprits who broke into and vandalized Steph's apartment," I transition.

"Good, good. What did you discover?" Juniak presses.

"Stephanie installed cameras to create private security of her apartment independently. The video feed clearly shows Morelli causing the damage. As you might be aware of, Rangeman passively monitors all City of Trenton properties. One of my employees combed the feed and created a second file showing Morelli's cousin, Mooch, raiding the dog poop pails at a local park. We are currently reviewing other files to track their movements, although the evidence we have is sufficiently strong for a warrant," I report with pleasure, knowing Morelli won't survive the week.

"Damn!" Juniak spits out. "Stephanie is one brilliant woman. I'll head over to Rangeman after this call to review evidence myself. There's something else. Does Rangeman also monitor TPD facilities?"

"Yes," I confirm. "We signed the contract last month. Kovacs was concerned about corruption on the force, and he discretely partnered with us to passively monitor the facilities and be a secondary on certain law enforcement actions," I reply, wondering where this is going.

"In Morelli's interview yesterday, he attempted to deflect responsibility for his actions to Officer Eddie Gazarra and yourself. Of course, Kovacs and I think it's a load of bull, but we let him believe we think his suspicions are reasonable. Morelli is known for spending more time out of the office than in, and it piqued our interest when he spent the majority of his day at his desk. He left after Kovacs pulled Eddie aside to ask him to partner with Rangeman on investigating Stephanie's apartment discretely. When Eddie returned to his desk, he observed something placed in his bottom drawer. He immediately secured the area. In the end, we discovered the betting books and cash bag planted in Eddie's drawer, and the only fingerprints on the books and bag as well as separately planted key are Morelli's. Morelli's prints are also on the desk. We'd like you to pull video feed from the station showing him planting the evidence against Gazarra," Juniak requests, his voice hard.

"It will be done today," I reply. Eddie is one of Steph's best friends, and it's a low blow Morelli would attempt to take down a good man as cover for his shit.

 **Morelli POV**

I'm at Pino's getting a pizza a beer when I get a call from Chief Kovacs _demanding_ I come into the station. These meetings with the Chief are getting old. Doesn't he have anything better to do? I mean, damn it; it's 6 pm, I'm off the clock, and this bullshit is getting in the way of my plans with Joyce. I take my time, finishing my beer and pizza. I'm not wasting my hard-earned money on their nonsense.

When I decide to go into the office, I saunter in all swagger and confidence. I stop outside the Chief's office, and I'm surprised to see Abigail still at her desk. Why is she working overtime? "Hey, Abigail," I say with my patented panty-melting gaze. "Mmm… that shirt hugs you in all the right places," I continue with a low voice, letting my eyes travel slowly over her body. It doesn't, but in my experience, activating a woman's sex drive loosens lips. "The Chief called me in. Be a good girl and tell me what's going on. I'll give you a surprise later on that I know you'll enjoy." I say suggestively to this butt-ugly woman.

Abigail doesn't return my smile. "Take a seat, please. I'll let Chief Kovacs know you are here," she says briskly. My look darkens as she turns her back. When did she start being such a bitch? I was willing to show her a good time, take her for a spin in exchange for information, but if she's going to be frigid, she can stay unsatisfied and sexually frustrated.

Chief Kovac steps out immediately, and by the stern expression on his face, I begin to regret taking my time getting here and the second beer. I know better than to let any apprehension show. "Detective Morelli, you seem to have forgotten you work for me and not the other way around. When I say come into the office, I mean now and not when you Goddamn well feel like it," the Chief barks.

I don't say anything in reply and sit immediately in the seat across from him. Deputy Chief Thompson is seated beside him. "I'm going to keep this simple and straightforward, and it's in your best interest to answer my questions honestly. Things will be a lot worse for you if you don't. Understand, Detective?" Kovacs says, his eyes boring into me.

I evenly return his gaze. I'm not going to let him threaten me like some school-child. I am Detective Joseph Morelli, and I have more clout here in Trenton than this outsider from Newark will ever have in this city. "Yes," I say flatly, deliberately not adding a sir or Chief to my response. I only offer respect to people who show me respect.

"Did you ever engage in a betting scheme against Stephanie Plum?" he launches at me directly.

"We've gone over this already. No. I would never hurt Stephanie like that," I say firmly, feeling my blood pressure rising. When that good for nothing bitch gets home, I'll show her.

"Have you ever participated in a single gamble concerning Ms. Plum?" Kovacs presses.

"No," I reply confidently. These idiots have nothing on me, and I'm immune to the Bad Cop ploy.

"Have you even encouraged others to participate in a wager regarding Ms. Plum?" the Chief continues.

His line of questioning is getting old. "No, and I'd happily help you look into whoever did," I say evenly, trying to keep my temper under control as I feel it start to waver beneath the surface. I'll have to funnel my excess energy into an even wilder night with Joyce than I originally planned.

Chief Kovacs shakes his head slightly and glances at Deputy Thompson, who presses his thin lips together.

"Have you ever engaged in sexual relations with any member of the TPD?" Kovacs demands.

I'm taken aback at the sudden change of questioning. What the hell is all this? "Absolutely not," I immediately reply. "I'm in a committed relationship with Steph, and further, I would never undermine my integrity as an officer of the law," I respond, trying to interject as much disdain as I can into my voice at his line of questioning.

Chief Kovacs leans back in his chair and silently stares at me. The silence stretches for more than a minute, but I match his steely eyes evenly. I know I'm untouchable.

"You're fired, effective immediately. Turn in your badge and gun," Kovacs orders. _What did he say?_ I didn't hear what I thought I heard. There's no way that he can fire me. I'll go straight to Juniak. After all, he is Steph's Godfather. He'll do anything to make sure his precious Stephanie is happy.

"On what basis," I challenge. "I'm the best Detective you've got. My record is flawless, and I close more cases faster than anyone else in the department."

Kovacs nods at Thompson. Thompson slides the betting books and cash bag on the table, each in an evidence bag. Then I spot another book. Mother fuckers. They broke into my fucking office. The union will never stand for it. They have no case, and when crime rates go up, they will be begging for me to return.

I keep my gaze level. "I've never seen that before in my life," I spit out.

"Fingerprint analysis and surveillance tape prove otherwise. We collaborated that evidence with interviews from twenty of your former colleagues, including Big Dog. They all talked. Every. Single. Person. It seems everyone is tired of your manipulation and coercion," Kovacs states. "For their honesty, integrity, and remorse, unlike you, they will keep their jobs."

The Chief then pushes my journal so that it stands alone from the betting materials. "We take fraternization seriously. This journal collaborates interviews as well as surveillance and physical evidence," he continues, his intense gaze never leaving mine.

"Again, I've never seen that before. It would appear that you have someone planting evidence to cover their tracks. As your best Detective, I would be happy to investigate it for you," I say smoothly, although I'm furious. How the fuck did they get that book?

"Joseph Morelli, you are no longer a Detective for the TPD. Badge and gun, now," Chief Kovacs demands as he stands. "The official cause for your termination of employment will be available through HR by the end of the week. I assure you, any attempt to repeal the decision will be a waste of time and money. At this point, you should consider yourself lucky not to be in handcuffs."

I never waiver in my hard gaze as I slam my badge and gun on the table. I turn and leave without a second glance. Mother fucking Stephanie. My current unemployment is her fault, and I will get my revenge. As I step into my truck, I call Joyce and tell her to meet me at the motel in an hour. She's a freak in bed, and I need to let out some of my anger for the absolute bullshit of the past hour. I begin to plan my punishment for that pathetic prude, that waste of tits and pussy, that lousy lay, Stephanie Plum. By the time my punishment is over, no one will want her ever again, especially not that thug Manoso.


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Who else thinks this story needs a teensy bit of fluff before we continue with the heavy stuff? I did, and I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it. I believe I have replied to everyone's lovely, kind, insightful and thoughtful comments. Thank you for leaving them, and I look forward to reading them after each posting. Your words fill my creative soul. I especially want to thank reviewers Bonnie, Angela Mueller, and JB. I can't reply to you directly, but I am so grateful for the comments you consistently write after each chapter. Thank you for your passion and investment in this story.

Many thanks again to misty23y. She's helped me a lot to make this story better, both challenging the content, motivating me to flesh out different storylines, and keeping it readable.

* * *

 **Chapter 37**

Date/Time Stamp: Wednesday, 19 SEP 2030-2330

 **Tank POV**

I hang up the phone with Chief Kovacs, and for the first time since before Little Girl began her decline, I lean back in my chair and smile a genuine smile. Hangman protocol is a long ball game. It's usually a slow, methodical process while we collect evidence, subtly apply pressure, and wait for the target to fall into the trap of their own making. Morelli is such a stupid son-of-a-bitch that we finished step one in record time.

I was certain Morelli would be suspended and eventually fired, but that he was blown out of the water so decisively raises my esteem in Kovacs. I will, however, need to raise Rangeman's alert level while Morelli still roams the streets. He's a loose cannon, and I don't want any of my men to end up in his crazy crosshairs.

It's also likely TPD will be short-staffed the next few weeks, and we will need to work diligently to ensure Rangeman protected assets continue to receive the best service. I'm astounded at the number of people rounded up in the betting scheme against Steph. Big Dog is suspended for two weeks without pay. Robin Russell and Kathryn Ricci are suspended for six weeks without pay. Twenty-seven more TPD members are having formal reprimands placed in their records. Everyone is expected to complete 200 hours of community service, attend a training session on department policies including fraternization, sexual assault and harassment, how to liaison with contracted security agencies, and more. Anyone who fails to complete the community service, training, or has an additional infraction will be immediately fired.

The video evidence from Steph is slowly being collaborated with forensics, and Hector's spliced video of multiple surveillance feeds is the rose on top of Morelli's grave. I'm looking forward to meeting with Senator Juniak, Chief Kovacs and our house lawyer tomorrow morning to review the case. After that, our lawyer will file the paperwork for a warrant, and, in all likelihood, I'll observe an executed search warrant and arrest tomorrow. I'll sleep much easier when Morelli is finally in jail.

More good news is that Eddie Gazarra will finally be promoted to Detective. It seems my feeling was right after all. Today is a good day.

 **Stephanie POV**

I'm standing on the edge of a precipice, my toes curled over the edge, my eyes level with the clouds. I spread my arms wide and close my eyes while lifting my chin to feel the sun fully. A breeze spreads my hair out behind me. I feel alive.

Suddenly, a hand roughly grabs me and jerks my body around. I wobble, stepping back to regain my balance, my eyes seeking out the intruder.

"What do you think you're doing?" blasts my mother. "You can't fly!"

As I'm focused on her, another hand pushes me forcefully, propelling me further from the ledge. "There you are again, making a freak of yourself. God, why can't I have a normal sister?" whiles Val.

A foot swings out and catches me off-guard. The blow brings me to my knees. "Cupcake, you can have the Italian Stallion. All you have to do is accept your role in life," Morelli croons down at me.

Someone kicks me from the side. "Stop the nonsense, get down from this roof, and start living a normal life. You're making my dinner late," my dad orders.

"Why do you have to be so difficult to love?" my mother says in a tone of profound suffering.

"Who are you to think you are too good for the Burg or my son?" disparages Angie Morelli, and I cover my head, deflecting another blow.

"You aren't that great at being a bounty hunter. I had to get someone else," complains Vinnie.

The voices and blows continue, and soon all I hear is a low roar, my body numb. I retreat into my mind. Is this when I give up? I desperately want the pain to stop, and the noise to quiet. _But if you agree to their terms,_ a small voice in my mind counters, _will it work?_

At that moment, I know it won't. It doesn't matter what I say or who I am. My very existence is an assault on the lives of the perfect Burg inhabitants. I either let them kill me, or I can stand and fly. If I jump from this ledge, I may die anyway, but at least I will have tried spreading my wings.

A burst of inspired energy explodes from me, and I rise. I twist and turn, escaping the blows. I shut out the hateful words. I see an opening, and I run as fast as I can to the line where the solid ground meets the heavens, jumping and spreading my arms like a bird. As I fall into oblivion, feathers burst around me.

I awake with a start, sweat soaking through my shirt. My heart is pounding, but for the first time in months, I don't feel afraid. _I can choose to fly_.

I'm in bed alone, but I know I don't have to be. Looking at the clock, I see it's a quarter to ten. I slept for nearly seven amazing hours, and even more incredibly, I'm hungry.

I slide out of bed and make my way to the kitchen. I'm standing in front of the open refrigerator trying to decide what to eat when Lester joins me. "Hey Beautiful, long time no see! Looking for a late night snack?" he asks in a friendly tone.

I turn to look at him, and I smile. "Yeah, got anything good in this joint?" I ask. Lester's face freezes in astonishment before returning the smile and wrapping me in a bear hug.

"You don't know how good you look," he says, his voice mixed with emotion.

My body's instant reaction to the embrace is to freeze, but I remember my dream. _Fly._ I take a deep breath, raise my arms, and timidly return the hug. "I'm learning," I say, "Thanks to great friends like you. I'm so glad you're here, Lester."

We break away, turning to look into the refrigerator once again, Lester's arms around my shoulders. "What looks good? If you could have anything, what would it be?" he challenges.

"Is it too late for breakfast?" I reply.

"How does French toast sound? My Abuela only gave me the secret family recipe," Lester replies proudly, waggling his eyebrows.

I giggle, and his face lights up. "It sounds perfect. How can I help?"

We begin to work, pulling out a mixing bowl, baking dish, and everything from eggs and bread to orange juice and honey. Lester pulls out a remote from a side drawer, and Cuban music quietly plays through the overhead speakers. "My Abuela always told me that food tastes better when making it with music playing and love in your heart," he said. I smile again, doing my own version of the cha-cha. He grabs my hand and spins me around. When I finish my rotation, I find myself in Carlos' strong arms. I stare into his eyes, and I'm sure I look like a lovesick fool.

"If you're going to learn to dance, don't take lessons from Lester," he warns, a thousand-watt smile spreading across his face.

I wrap my arms around his neck, stand on my tip toes and kiss the man I love, the man I know would willingly jump off the ledge to fly with me.

I break the kiss and keeping one arm around Carlos' waist, turn and point at the counter. "Care to join us for breakfast?" I ask.

"Babe," he says, pulling me closer, and I feel the electricity through my body. "Why don't you sit down? Lester thinks Abuela gave him the family recipe, but I'm the one who knows the secret ingredient," Carlos says, guiding me to the stool.

The fever broke while I was sleeping, and while I'm beginning to feel better, my energy is waning. I sit and hold Carlos' hand a moment, not wanting to give up the physical contact. He stands behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders, understanding my unspoken need.

"Pfft, you aren't as smart as you think you are, little cousin," Lester replies, sticking his tongue out, mixing spoon in hand. I laugh out loud at the ridiculous site of an absolute badass engaged in childhood banter with his slightly more badass compatriot. Bobby and Hector walk in at this moment, and Bobby snaps a picture of Lester just in time. Lester's face pales somewhat.

"Tank is going to love this," Bobby says, hitting send with a flourish as Lester groans.

" _Mi Angelita,_ it's good to see you smile," Hector says with a rare smile of his own.

Carlos squeezes my shoulders gently, and I feel whole again, even if for just a moment. It's the first time I know and not hope that things will be better, and that I will heal, surrounded by the love and support of my real family.

We are all soon seated at the table, enjoying the best French toast I've ever had. It's flavored with citrus and cinnamon, dripping with a glaze made from honey and vanilla. I moan without thought, savoring each bite. The faces of my friends are glowing with happiness, and we laugh and talk comfortably. It's the best meal I've ever had.

When the plates are empty, Bobby and I walk to the living room while the rest clear the table and clean up. He points to the sofa, and I settle in, enjoying the view. Bobby returns with his bag, and with my permission, takes a round of vitals. "I'm glad you see you are feeling better, Bomber," he says, his fingers on my pulse.

"I think the fever broke, but while I slept quite a bit, I'm still tired," I admit.

"It did, and the medicine will help you mend faster," Bobby confirms. "You'll likely continue feeling more tired than usual, especially since you've been sleep deprived for so long. Drinking more fluids and increasing your calorie intake will help as well." He pauses, looking at me kindly. "Would I be correct in thinking you are beginning to feel safer, less afraid?" he asks, and the question is coming from my friend and not my medical provider.

I reach and lightly take his hand. "Yes, I am, a little bit at a time," I say quietly.

"It's a difficult thing, teaching yourself to trust," he says. "Thank you for trusting all of us, and for sharing your story with us. Please know, no one here judges you, and if anything, we think more highly of you for the way you've overcome obstacles in the past and are continuing to do so now."

"Thank you, Bobby. I'm only beginning to realize how blessed I am," I say. I stand and look for Carlos. He seems to know the moment I do, and he immediately steps out of the kitchen and into my line of sight. I begin to walk towards him, and Carlos meets me halfway, placing a hand on the small of my back as we turn towards the bedroom.

I move into the bathroom and begin filling the tub. I stand and close the short distance to Carlos, wrapping my arms around his waist again, relishing in the contact. I look up into his deep brown eyes, filled with love for me, and kiss him, deepening it as my hands slide up his back. His arms pull me closer, and we break the kiss a moment later, not releasing the embrace. I rest my head on his chest. "I love you, and I'm so grateful for you," I say, my voice quivering with emotion.

" _Quierda, te quiero,"_ Carlos replies, his voice equally layered.

I lower my arms and begin to pull Carlos' shirt out of his pants, moving my hands underneath to feel the smooth skin. "Join me," I say softly, my eyes meeting his. His pupils dilate as he gently kisses me.

I pull my sweatshirt and tunic off, followed by my leggings and socks. I'm standing there in my bra and panties, and it strikes me I don't feel ashamed or judged. Carlos loves _me_ , scars and all. I smile slightly to myself as I slip out of the remaining undergarments, taking pleasure in the comforting confidence. Carlos undresses as well, his eyes never leaving me as he steps into the bath and holds out a hand for me. I slide into the steaming water, settling between his legs.

I can feel his erection behind me. It's flattering I have this effect on him. That I know he expects nothing from me, however, is what makes my confidence in the security of our love and mutual respect blossom further. It gives me the opportunity to feel safe, and in that safety, heal.

"I had a dream," I say, and he wraps his arms around me. I rest my head back and sigh with contentment.

"What was it about?" Carlos asks in a slightly accented voice.

"I realized that while I've always said I wanted to fly, I've been listening to the voices of those who clip my wings and beat me down. I would never succeed as a result. Then, I decided to ignore those voices and seek new ones, and I flew," I say with quiet joy. I turn so I am curled sideways against him. "I choose you. You are helping me seek the tools I need to silence those voices, and you are filling my life with love and a purpose I've never known. Each day, I'm growing in appreciation of the incredible man you are. I'm learning how to be loved, and as a result, it's giving me the wings I've always wanted. I love you."

Carlos gently tightens his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. _"_ _Quierda, me traes luz y paz de una manera que nunca creí posible. Me has enseñado, solo por estar en mi vida, a abrir mi corazón de nuevo para que pueda amar y ser amado a cambio. Creí que mi alma oscura nunca se curaría, y tú eres la razón de ese cambio. No puedo imaginar mi vida sin ti en ella. Eres el amor de mi vida_ _,"_ he says, the words thick with passion.

I raise my chin to kiss him, and he meets me halfway. The kiss we share is filled with an outpouring of our love, allowing our connection to grow stronger. As we break apart, I look steadily into his eyes, saying, "Tell me."

Carlos smiles, his eyes glowing in adoration. He kisses me again, and then I rest my head into the crook of his shoulder, closing my eyes in the perfection of the moment. In a thickly accented voice, Carlos translates for me, his arms holding me tighter.

"My Dear, you bring light and peace to me in a way I never thought possible. You've taught me, just by being in my life, to open up my heart again so that I might love and be loved in return. I believed my dark soul would never be healed, and you are the reason for that change. I can't imagine my life without you in it. You are the love of my life."

I sit still for a moment, attempting to commit his precious words to memory. Then I slowly open my eyes and smile in affection. We kiss again, and it radiates security, peace, and love through every crevice of my being. I turn to face forward again, reaching for the soap and loofah. Hand in hand, we slowly explore each other's bodies, ending in a gentle kiss.

Carlos steps out first, drying himself off before holding out a hand to pull me from the tub, wrapping me in a decadently fluffy towel. He easily picks me up, carrying me to the bed. He returns dressed in silky black boxers, holding a t-shirt and shorts for me, as well as the healing cream from Bobby. We sit facing each other, my towel still wrapped around my midsection. He reaches for my arm, and firmly but gently administers the aid. The process continues to the other side, and as he finishes my arms, I stand to dress in the t-shirt and panties.

"I'll be right back," I say, carrying my towel to the restroom to brush my teeth, comb my hair and use the commode. Carlos' hands are adept, and when I lay down beside him again, I don't want any reason to get up.

I walk back into the room and crawl onto the bed to straddle him, Carlos' dark eyes tracking every movement. I pull my body parallel with his, kissing his mouth gently before rolling off and curling into the person who calms my troubled soul with his love and presence. Carlos kisses the top of my head before breaking away to continue his healing massage.

I fall asleep appreciating the gentle safety of Carlos' touch.


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: This is the most important and most difficult chapter written to date. This chapter through chapter 41 each has a tissue warning. Please PM me if you have questions regarding specific triggers. When I began this story, this is one of the first things I outlined. While I intended to use it later, as I wrote, the characters demanded its placement here.

I began writing this story as a way to begin writing again. It had been nearly a decade since I took on the task of formal writing, and I was in need of a mental challenge and creative outlet. It's scary putting my ideas out there on paper for the world to see, and I am so grateful for this community of kind and encouraging readers who add their own critical insights. Thank you.

I have been posting approximately three times a week. I will be scaling it back to two for the next couple of weeks. I am studying for the LSAT and preparing my law school applications. I pre-wrote much of this over the fall, but my concussion slowed me down. I don't want to outpace my ability to write, edit along with my beta, and provide the quality of chapters you deserve.

I appreciate all misty23y does to beta this story. Thanks, Babe.

* * *

 **Chapter 38**

Date/Time Stamp: Thursday, 20 SEP 0000-1530

 **Stephanie POV**

Falling asleep in Carlos' secure arms is not difficult. Staying asleep, however, is another thing. The trauma of the day, especially seeing Morelli vandalize my apartment so viciously, plays out in my dreams again and again. I'm mindful of Carlos, and I control my reactions to minimize any disturbances to his sleep. By 2:30 am, I decide to slide out of bed for a hot drink, hoping chamomile will relax me enough to give slumber another shot.

I take my steaming mug into the living room to stare at the beautiful view, and I'm surprised to see Hector on the couch awash in the glow of his laptop. I sit down beside him and see he is watching surveillance video. "We've established I'm a recovering insomniac," I say. "Why are you awake?"

Hector looks over at me, and I'm struck by the softness of his gaze. " _Mi Angelita,_ I've watched you struggle for the past few years, and I could never figure out what I could do to help. This," he says, sweeping a hand towards the computer, "is a way I can. I'm splicing together various camera feeds to track Mooch and Morelli's movements on the night your apartment was destroyed. We've since added GPS trackers to their vehicles."

I set my mug on the coffee table and turn to face Hector. "You have always been there for me. Thank you, Hector, for being here. You've helped me distinguish my real friends from those who use me to gain something for themselves. In many ways, you've always stood by me like family when my family never did. I consider you my brother, partner, and friend," I say softly as tears prick the corners of my eyes.

Hector nods and embraces me. "You never have to thank me, _mi hermana._ You would and have done the same for Alicia and me," he replies. (my sister)

I pull back and stand while saying, "Just a moment." I quietly pad into the master closet to retrieve my laptop before settling beside Hector again. "We can do this together."

 **Ranger POV**

I automatically stir at 0500, and when I sleepily roll over to reach for Steph, I awake completely. Her side of the bed is cold. Where is she? I make a quick sweep of the porch and adjacent rooms in the master suite before striding towards the kitchen. I stop in the entrance to the great room and see Hector on the couch. I move towards him, and it's not until I can look over his shoulder that I see Steph slumped on the sofa beside him, asleep with her computer perched beside her.

"Estefania joined me at 2:30 and offered to help check surveillance feeds with me. She drifted off about forty-five minutes ago. I've just finished editing the final video, and it's awaiting your review," Hector says in Spanish, answering my unasked question.

" _Gracias,_ " I reply. I'm relieved Steph didn't retreat from her dreams alone this time. I close her laptop and set it aside before carefully lifting my Babe from the couch. I smoothly carry her back to the bedroom and tuck her in gently. She didn't so much as stir during the entire movement. I kiss her lightly on the forehead and hope she remains asleep. It's clear her exhausted body needs the rest. (thank you)

I retreat into my office. Opening my email, I'm pleased with how much has been accomplished since yesterday. Morelli is unemployed, and appropriate punishments will be dealt out across TPD today. Eddie has been especially excellent through this entire process, and his promotion is well deserved.

Rodriguez finished the background check against Morelli. I open the report and begin reading. I see why it took him an extra day to complete the inspection. Rodriguez personally traveled to the Office of Naval Personnel in Millington, TN to verify Morelli's DD-214 and service record. When Morelli applied to become a police officer, he indicated he received an honorable discharge. He falsified his records.

As a Boatswain's Mate, Petty Officer 3rd Class, in Deck Division on a destroyer, he was caught with a female seaman in a fan room by his Chief. When the ship's Captain ordered an investigation for the Captain's Mast, a formal proceeding where the Captain is the judge and has the authority to make or break careers, it was discovered Morelli was running a betting scheme in Deck regarding the sexual proclivities of newly reporting Sailors, often fresh out of boot camp. He kept a journal in his rack, making the CO's decision an easy one. Once the ship returned to port, he was sent to the brig for three days on bread and water, demoted to Seaman Recruit, and kicked out with a dishonorable discharge.

As the investigating officer on hundreds of cases for the TPD, all of his cases will need to be re-opened and gone through with a fine tooth comb to ensure justice was indeed served. This will be hugely time-consuming and at an enormous cost. It should also be another charge to keep Morelli behind bars longer.

I contact Tank to ensure he will have all the information we've gathered available for his briefing with Senator Juniak, Chief Kovacs and one of our contracted attorneys, Max Barnes. Barnes fits in well at Rangeman as a JAG reservist primarily serving SPECOP units, and I know he'll be motivated to see Morelli in jail. I expect the warrant and subsequent arrest to be complete by the end of the day.

 **Stephanie POV**

I'm momentarily confused when I stir again. I let my brain catch up with my surroundings, and I surmise I must have fallen asleep on Hector last night. At least I was some help. I roll out of bed and wander through the bathroom and closet, languidly freshening up and getting dressed. I pull on a pair of black leggings, a sports bra, a plum tank top, and a matching zip up. My name has a color in it, and fortunately, that color isn't puce. I throw my curls up in a voluminous ponytail and set out in quest of lunch.

I walk into the kitchen and see it's already after twelve. Bobby is sitting at the breakfast bar reading his tablet. "Hey, Bobby. What's cooking around here for lunch?" I say with a slight smile.

Bobby returns my smile and stands to join me at the fridge. "How are you feeling, Bomber?" he asks while pulling various ingredients from the refrigerator.

"Better, thanks. Couldn't sleep last night, but at least I was able to this morning," I reply openly. Soon, we've assembled and pressed Cuban sandwiches with tropical fruit and arugula salads for everyone.

As Bobby sets the table, I walk down the hall to Carlos' office. He looks up from his desk and stands immediately. I walk over and place my arms around his waist, leaning up for a kiss.

"Babe," he says, his eyes soft, his firm arms pulling me closer.

"Bobby and I made lunch; would you care to join us?" I ask, already knowing the answer. Carlos kisses me again before locking out his computer and escorting me down the hall.

"Beautiful," booms Lester. "You made lunch. Are we sure it's edible?"

I laugh, and it feels refreshing. Lester's teasing comes from a place of brotherly love, whereas the same comment from my mother would mean to knock me down and highlight my inadequacies. "Lucky for you, Bobby helped," I reply lightheartedly.

Each meal in this home is the exact opposite of every meal I experienced in the Burg. The conversation is light and kind, full of humor and comradery. No one is using food as manipulation, being passive aggressive or pushing some hidden agenda. I find myself relaxing and healing. I feel myself letting my barriers down and being free to be happy.

Afterward, everyone contributes equally and without complaint at clean up, and we settle in the living room, windows open. Carlos is beside me, his hand in mine. "Babe, I'd like to update you on the news from Trenton," he says. His face is impassive. My mood drops immediately, and I feel my stomach flop, anticipating the worst. I internally steel myself and nod my head in agreement.

"As expected, the Chief quickly completed his investigation into the betting against you at the station. It is clear from the evidence and interviews Morelli orchestrated the betting as a means to apply pressure on you to quit your job as a bounty hunter. It seems he did this to manipulate your relationship to his advantage. Morelli also used favors and applied pressure on colleagues not to give you aid in the conduct of your job, often against protocol. His actions are considered a gross misconduct violation and an abuse of rank." Carlos paused, tightening his grip on my hands, his eyes never leaving me.

My chest tightens. It's one thing to stand by and do nothing while others mock the person you purport to love; it's an entirely different thing for that person to be the ringleader, even going so far as to endanger that person. It hits me like a thunderclap. Our relationship was always about the money, never me. Morelli has only ever sought to control me. I keep my eyes on Carlos, steadying myself for more.

When Carlos continues, his voice is serious, "Since Rangeman began surveillance on Morelli this week, we've documented him with both Officers Kathryn Ricci and Robin Russell in compromising positions. Interviews into the betting revealed he used his badge to pressure them for sex in exchange for better evaluations and assignments."

Carlos pauses, giving me a moment to absorb the information. I already knew Morelli had moved on sexually from me, and I had enough information to infer that Joe likely had while we were in an "on phase" as well. The news isn't all that surprising. What hadn't occurred to me is that Morelli pressured or coerced women besides me to have sex with him. I thought I was alone. I feel sad as I wonder how many others there are.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking around the room. All my brother's faces express looks that are a combination of compassion to me and anger at Morelli. I appreciate their solidarity, and it gives me courage. My eyes meet Carlos' again, and I nod at him to continue.

"The evidence is overwhelming enough that Morelli has been fired, effective immediately. Chief Kovacs is determining if there is a case for criminal charges in addition to the breaking and entering. Regardless, Eddie Gazarra was promoted to Detective this morning. He has the lead on the criminal investigation into your apartment's vandalism and is reporting directly to the Chief. Charges, in that case, are inevitable, and Morelli's arrest is expected to occur by tomorrow, probably today.

"Big Dog has been demoted and suspended without pay for two weeks as Morelli's second in the betting scheme. Big Dog implicated more than two dozen other members of the police department. There will be formal reprimands placed in their records, sensitivity training conducted, and each will be required to complete 200 hours of community service within the next six months or be fired." Carlos sets his lips in a thin line as he finishes, his hands and eyes never leaving me.

I rerun all the information through my head, and as shocking as the news is on the face of it, I feel surprisingly level. The Burg told me my entire life I am a joke who does things the wrong way. Nothing I've done is ever good enough in their eyes, and usually completely wrong. The current situation is confirmation of their attitudes towards me. I'm glad the investigation resolved quickly.

I already determined Morelli is the womanizing abuser he swore he'd never become. He is that and more. Until today, I didn't realize that he allowed me to be hurt in an attempt to have power over me, and that stings. I'm disgusted I let him back into my life when I knew better.

"Okay," I say evenly. "Thank you for letting me know. Is there anything else?"

Carlos looks at me carefully. "No, Babe, that's it for now," he says.

"Alright, I'm going to spend some time on my computer before my appointment. Bye, guys," I say, with a two finger wave to everyone in the room. I stand, find my laptop in the master bedroom, and settle on the porch chaise lounge to begin writing my journal.

I decided to start at the beginning, and I furiously type my life history, unfiltered from six until now. With each retelling, either to another or in writing, I'm finding new elements and emotions. Each of those revelations causes a slight shift in my worldview. I smile tightlipped to myself. I think I discovered the point of the exercise.

 **Morelli POV**

I groan as a headache dulls my senses. I know I went to sleep with Joyce beside me, but she always scampers off in the night like a rat. I would be surprised if she walked out of here, however. I made sure that bitch will remember me for days. I rub my hands over my face and through my hair as I recall the Chief's ridiculous performance last night.

I might be down, but I never stay down. Kovacs has no right to fire me, and I'm going to tie up every resource the Union and TPD human resources department has until I'm eventually reinstated – with back pay. Hell, I know they will be begging me to come back once cases aren't closed anymore. No one has the special relationship I have with the thugs, gangbangers and drug dealers on Stark Street. I help them, they help me, and everybody wins. Once they know I no longer have their backs, the shit will really hit the fan. I give it a week before Kovacs begs me to return. I'll probably get a raise to go with that apology.

In the interim, it's time to take that self-righteous bitch Stephanie Plum down, and I'm going to use the Burg to do it. I walk downstairs for my favorite hangover cure, another beer. I see it's past noon already, and I call Terri. "I need you at my house, now," I order. "And bring that curly wig you wore last Halloween and your best Jersey trash lingerie." Terry rarely gives me pushback. I've been fucking her since the moment my balls dropped and dick grew.

An hour and three beers later, Terry comes in through my back door. "What's this all about, Joe? I have a life, you know. I can't just drop everything because you want to play dress up," she whines.

"Shut up, Terry. Stephanie is what's up. She ran out of town with Ranger and conspired to get me fired. I need you to help me destroy her reputation. We both know she's a slut who's been fucking all of Rangeman. It's time to make the evidence," I sneer.

Terry looks at me like a vacuous codfish, and I can see the physical work it takes her to think through what I'm saying. "That's not all bad, right? Now you can come work for my Uncle, and we can finally be together, right?" she finally simpers.

She's so fucking stupid, but sure, whatever it takes to get her to agree. I saunter over and place my hands on her waist. "Of course, baby. This will help make that happen. Now, be good for me and go get changed," I say before kissing her lightly and pushing her towards the restroom, giving her ass a motivational smack on the way.

Thirty minutes later, Terry looks so much like Stephanie I have to think twice about who I'm fucking. I turn her so that she's on all fours, and I begin ruthlessly pounding her, starting with a punishing pace on her cunt before switching to her ass, recording it all with a POV camera shot. Everyone in Trenton will believe Cupcake likes it rough, fast and in every hole. It's a perfect revenge.

Suddenly, someone's banging on my door and yelling "Trenton PD. Open up!" I'm not opening up jack shit. They fired me, remember. This is not how they go about getting back into my good graces. I feel Terry's enthusiasm dropping as she tries to pull away from me. I grab her by the hips and give her a hard whack with my hand. The only one who decides when we are done is me. I groan as I feel my orgasm building. I intend to pull out and paint my Cupcake impersonator with my cum.

Just as I'm about to do so, I'm surrounded by a half dozen members of the TPD and Rangeman. They grab my arms and pin them behind me as the black Rangeman t-shirt I'm wearing gets sprayed by my own spunk.

"Joseph Morelli, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present before and during the questioning, and if you cannot afford the services of an attorney, you have the right to have one appointed, at public expense and without cost to you, to represent you before and during questioning," Eddie Gazarra says, a smirk on his face.

I hear Terry screaming in the background, and as I look around the room, my eyes land on Tank. He returns my hard look and fury for my Cupcake explodes within me.

 **Stephanie POV**

Consumed by my thoughts, what feels like seconds is in reality nearly an hour of typing. Carlos walks behind me, then gives me a small shoulder rub while kissing the top of my head. "Mmmm," I say contentedly, closing my laptop and looking up at him. I shift so he can sit behind me, and he hands me a smoothie. I sit perpendicular in his lap, his protective arms around me, my head on his chest. I close my eyes a moment, enjoying my favorite smell.

Carlos is holding my hand, giving it a light squeeze as he asks gently, "Are you sure you're okay with everything? Being upset about what Morelli did is okay. You trusted him, and he violated that trust. You don't have to be brave for me."

I open my eyes, take a drink of my smoothie, savoring the sweet-tart flavors of the variously mixed berries while considering Carlos' question. "I think I always knew," I finally say. "I just never wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe in the fantasy, regardless of what it cost me. Part of me thought I didn't deserve any better."

I stop and rest my head against Carlos' chest again, my opposing arm reaching around his body. "Mostly, I'm relieved Morelli is finally facing some of the consequences of his actions. What is happening now is the tip of the iceberg regarding his downfall, but I'm glad to see him slowly stripped of everything he ever held dear. I hope it isn't wrong of me to say this, but if anyone deserves some misery in their life, it's him," I confess.

Carlos squeezes me to him tighter, and I feel relief and acceptance. "Babe, you're right. You never deserved any of this, but Morelli does deserve everything that is happening to him," he says.

I ponder his assessment. Carlos speaks in absolutes, whereas I consider things in part. I'm not a blameless sacrifice. I made decisions and choices that brought me to this point. I twist and pull away, setting the drink down, and sit cross-legged in front of Carlos. I shake my head, my brow furrowed. "No," I say firmly.

Carlos looks concerned. "Babe?" he questions, reaching his hands out to my fidgeting ones.

"That's not accurate. I am complicit in some of this," I start, my anxiety rising. I pull my hands away, using them to gesture as I speak. "I _chose_ to go to the garage that day, against instruction. I _didn't_ fight back better at the Tasty Pastry. I _did everything I could think of_ to wish that baby gone. No one _made_ me go to all those parties, drink those drinks, be with those men. I could have walked away, but I _didn't._ I _stayed_ , and it cost a man his life. I _willingly_ married Dickie. I practically _forced_ Vinnie to hire me, and I _refused_ the extra help you offered me along the way, stubbornly holding onto my independence. I _deserved_ every bit of pain I got from my skips because I've given worse. I _decided_ to get back into Morelli's bed again and again, despite our history. I _never_ stood up for myself in the Burg. I _allowed_ all of this to happen." I'm practically yelling, my hands wild, tears freely falling down my face.

Carlos looks stricken, shaking his head, "No! No, Stephanie!" he says emphatically, raising his voice slightly. It's the closest to yelling he's ever come to at me. I freeze, my body trembling uncontrollably. "It is _not_ your fault," he says firmly, leaning towards me, so our faces are level.

We stare at each other a long moment, each considering the other. I break the silence first. "You have this wrong," I say flatly. "Morelli is at fault, and he deserves his punishment, but I am also at fault." My voice is broken but resolute.

Carlos continues to stare at me intensely, and when he speaks, it's calmly but with an emphatic, pleading undercurrent. " _Querida_ , you were an innocent child at six. At sixteen, you said no. It's not your fault he didn't listen. In both instances, you were shamed and abandoned by the one person who should have stood by you and loved you unconditionally, your mother. It's completely understandable, in the wake of your rape, that you should be fearful of becoming a mother yourself, and you did not kill that baby. Miscarriages happen for reasons no one understands. You were hurting, alone and scared, and those are strong feelings to deal with, especially as a sixteen-year-old. Women with more years and experiences than you find it difficult to deal with the aftermath of rape. I don't judge you for the parties. I'm assuming your consent was given each time freely, and it was a way to gain control. Taking a beating, healing and facing your aggressor is one of the most difficult things anyone can ever go through, let alone in the wake of sexual and emotional abuse. You may have helped kill someone, but it means you are here instead, and that makes the world a better place. I _know_ what it's like to discover your hands can take away a life, and I only got through it because of my brothers on the Core Team, and it's true for each of them as well. You have faced all of this relatively alone. You sought the comfort and normalcy of a relationship, and Morelli was an excellent actor. It's okay to want to be loved. It's not your fault he chose to squander and reject that love. You _never_ deserve to be hurt by another, physically or emotionally, because of _anything_ you have ever done, Stephanie. _It is not your fault._ "

I tuck my knees into my chest with my arms wrapped around them, and I'm rocking slightly due to the tension exploding from my body. Carlos and I have unexpectedly hit upon one of my deepest held beliefs, and he is challenging it head-on. I always said, _'It's not my fault,'_ as a catch-all statement, because the truth was too hard.

I tuck my chin to my chest, my forehead on my knees. I'm considering the implications of Carlos' words so intently I stop crying, but my breathing is quick and shallow. Carlos is the first person to ever suggest none of the events of my life aren't my fault. It's always been my fault. Every decision made and repercussion faced has been with that truth. My respirations increase as I process this.

Suddenly, Carlos' hand is on my back, his other turning my body before pushing my head firmly between my legs. "Breathe, Babe, breathe," he soothes. "With me," and he crouches beside me, brushing my hair out of my face while establishing a clear cadence. I try to match his rhythm, but I'm overwhelmed with my thoughts, and I'm finding it difficult to focus.

Distantly I hear Bobby's voice on my other side, but I don't register the words. Carlos' words are pounding through my mind, and my entrenched defenses are fighting back. I'm struggling to make sense of it all. I feel a blanket placed on my back, and it feels like a weight. Someone places something over my mouth, and the fear that has been my constant companion for the past few months takes over.

I move quickly, shoving the mask forward while tucking my body backward. I have the patio furniture between the people in front of me and me. My world is unfocused, breathing erratic. I'm crouched in my fighter's stance as I try to find my place in the world again.

What does that mean, _it's not my fault_? I never thought of myself as a victim. I don't want to be a victim. But what if I've been shouldering the blame unnecessarily? What if I don't have to anymore? What if the way I've ever thought about everything is wrong?

I sense movement on my left, and I instinctively deflect, moving closer to the side path around the house. "Get back!" I yell.

My mind is a reel, and I find myself examining every moment. What could I have done? What should I have done? Does it matter? My fault or not my fault?

My hands are automatically scratching my arms as I replay my history, every emotion at the forefront, questioning everything. I was a child. I said no. The miscarriage. He had to die so I could save Alicia's baby. It's okay to open my heart to love, and I'm not responsible for the responses of those I chose to give it to, even if they make the wrong choices. _It's not my fault._

I feel rather than see the guys surround me. "Don't!" I command, holding my hands out in the stop motion.

 _It's not my fault._

I take a deep breath as tears begin to flow. I work hard to blink the fog away, and my eyes search for Carlos'. I lower my arms as our gazes lock. He's standing four feet in front of me, just outside my reach, posture open. "It's not my fault," I whisper.

"No, _Querida,_ it's not," he confirms solemnly.

"Catch me when I fall," I whisper, and as the darkness takes over, I feel two arms lift me off my feet.


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Thank you for your patience during this slower period of updates. The next chapter will be up either Wednesday or Thursday. As always, I never take a review for granted, and I value each one.

Hats off again to misty23y, my beta. Your hard work is much appreciated. She's been a busy writer herself with several stories posted. I hope you can check out her efforts.

* * *

 **Chapter 39**

Date/Time Stamp: Thursday, 20 SEP 1130-1530

 **Ranger POV**

I hang up the phone with Juniak and lean back in my chair. Tank's debrief at Rangeman this morning presented an overwhelming amount of evidence against Morelli, and a Judge signed off on the warrant an hour ago. I'm pleased our plan is working. Morelli is so incensed not to have Stephanie in his grasp anymore; he is sloppy. Once we determined the kind of man he is, we knew his actions are predictable, and it won't take much before he destroys himself.

I sit back in my chair and consider the best method to give Steph the update. I feel as though yesterday was a turning point for her, but she is still fragile. I'm more relieved than I can express she is finally eating. Last night's dinner is an instant favorite memory. My Babe's smile and light infect all of us. She has a tender and sincere capacity to love. Making a decision, I send a quick text to Lester, Bobby, and Hector.

I glance at the clock and see it's nearing noon. I smile. It would seem Dr. Anderson is correct again. The longer Steph is here, learning to accept love, her safety and comfort level have correspondingly increased. In correlation, so is her sleep. The only people I've ever seen as tired as Steph came from war zones. The restorative power of rest will tremendously aid her ability to process information and heal.

My heart skips a beat when Steph strides into the room. _Dios,_ she is a beautiful woman, only made more so by the smile that radiates from within. I quickly join her for lunch, and it only rivals last night's breakfast in joy. I decide to move forward with the debrief. I'm optimistic the combination of rest and food will make the news easier to take. More than anyone, Steph hates it when we leave her in the dark, and I want her to continue to trust me.

My men settle into the living room with Steph and me after lunch. They know some of this information, but not all of it. Further, I can see Steph's bond with them has deepened, and it may help her to receive the news surrounded by people who love and accept her.

As I begin to update her on Morelli's actions and the subsequent consequences, I'm uneasy at her response. It's not so much what she says as what she doesn't, nor is it what her usually expressive face shows but rather the blankness. I can tell her mood is becoming depressed and the tension is returning to her small frame. I keep my words neutral and details to a bare minimum. Steph can ask questions if and when she is ready.

Steph quickly retreats when I finish. I think about following her, but I surmise she is going to journal, and decide some quiet time might be what she needs to work through everything. I lean back on the couch, my blank face slamming down as I internalize my rage towards Morelli. To no one's surprise, it's Lester who speaks first.

"Are you sure we can't send out a hit team and rid the world of that asshole?" he states venomously.

Bobby shakes his head while Hector's eyes have a dark gleam. "You know that would also kill Bomber," Bobby says. "We need to use the process for her sake."

I know he's right, but deep down, I agree with Lester and Hector. I glance at my watch and see we have a half an hour before Steph and I need to leave for her appointment. I stand and move to the kitchen, making a fruit and protein smoothie to increase her calorie count.

When I walk into the master bedroom, I pleased as I spy Steph on the porch. She seems to love that spot best of all in our home, and I'm glad she is making herself comfortable here. When I touch her shoulders, I'm relieved she seems more relaxed. My heart swells as she settles comfortably into my lap. Holding her makes me feel like, to use a cliché, that I've found my other half, and I'm complete. I smile internally at my cheesiness.

Despite the smile Steph gives me now, I still feel an undercurrent of uneasiness, as though I sense a storm on the horizon. I ask her how she is doing with everything. I'm hoping this alone time will have allowed her enough time to sort her thoughts and emotions enough to open up to me. I appreciate the trust she places in me, to be honest with her reflections. It's this open emotional intimacy between us I've never shared with another person and value so highly.

As she opens up, her perspective is different from what I expected. Only Steph would worry about whether or not it is acceptable or not for her to be content with the well-deserved suffering of another. _Love your enemy, indeed_ , I think, amazed again at the goodness of her heart. "Babe, you're right," I say, squeezing her to me tighter. "You never deserved any of this, but Morelli does deserve everything that is coming to him."

I immediately feel tense when Steph shifts suddenly, pulling away from me, and while I am mentally alert, I force myself to retain a relaxed and neutral posture so that I don't scare her. I'm confused when she firmly says, "No," and concerned by the rapidly increasingly anxiety radiating from her.

"Babe?" I question, trying to reach and calm her gently.

I am dumbstruck at what Steph says next. She thinks all this crap is her fault. She honestly believes it. Steph carries the weight of not only the emotional and physical pain of the wrongs done to her, but additionally assumes responsibility for the choices of others. She's gone so far as to assign fault in the few instances where there is none. As I listen to her words and watch her bare her soul, seeing the agony and pain, something in me cracks. How can the best person I know see herself so wrong? She's spinning out of control, and I need to steady this conversation.

I shake my head, saying "No! No, Stephanie!" I'm deliberately raising my voice slightly to get her attention. Steph falls silent, her body a trembling statue. I want to take her in my arms, to take all of this from her, but I'm worried too much physical contact too fast will overwhelm her. I know this is a delicate situation, and I'm praying I find the right words. I lean forward, so we are level with each other, our eyes locked. "It is _not_ your fault," I say quietly but with absolute firmness. I'm holding my breath as I see the war of emotions explode in her eyes.

When Steph speaks, her words settle like a rock in the core of my being. "You have this wrong," she says in a cracked voice but with a stubborn tone. "Morelli is at fault, and he deserves his punishment, but I am also at fault."

I hold her gaze as I try to decide what to say next. I urgently want to make her understand how backward she has this, that she can let go this burden that was never hers to carry. She needs to understand the truth so she can truly fly the way she wants. My next words burst out of me as I desperately work to show her why the fault isn't hers, hoping an emotional appeal to logic will persuade her.

All of the times I've seen her injured body accompanied by a saddened spirit flash in the forefront of my mind. She thinks she deserves it. Indeed, she could not have prevented all harm, but some of it could have been if she had decided to fight back or to stand up for herself. Lester's words echo through my mind, _"_ _What a fucking disaster from the one person among us who doesn't deserve any of it."_

I finish my fervent rebuttal with, "You _never_ deserve to be hurt by another, physically or emotionally, because of _anything_ you have ever done, Stephanie. _It is not your fault._ "

I feel before I see her retreat from me as she attempts to process my words, and my concern ratchets up even higher. _What if I pushed too hard?_ I say her name softly as she begins to hyperventilate, but she is completely unresponsive. I gently but firmly turn her body so that her legs are over the side and push her head between her legs. Steph is hyperventilating, and I know she will pass out if she can't calm down.

I move myself to continue to be at her level so that her subconscious doesn't feel threatened by my more substantial form. I'm rubbing her back and coaching her, but it isn't working. I pull out my phone and text Bobby with one hand. He's at my side 30 seconds later, medical bag and small portable oxygen tank in hand.

"What happened?" Bobby queries calmly.

"Steph told me Morelli deserves what he gets, but she's to blame as well. I told her it wasn't her fault, and she began to hyperventilate after that, and she hasn't been responsive since," I say rapidly.

"Text Lester to call Dr. Anderson and have her come here stat. Steph's in the middle of a severe panic attack. We need to calm her down before she becomes a greater risk to herself," Bobby orders quietly.

I text Lester as Bobby goes into the master bedroom and returns with a blanket. He moves to Steph's other side and begins talking to her. Bobby calmly tells her everything he is going to do before he does it, starting with the blanket, then checking her heart rate, but she doesn't acknowledge him in any way. He's repeating my efforts to encourage her to regulate her breathing with no success. I continue murmuring to her in English and Spanish, my hand on her back. Helpless fear is snaking through my limbs, and it's the worst feeling I've ever had.

Bobby turns on the oxygen tank and tells Steph he is about to place the mask over her face. The moment he does, she explodes in defensive energy. She pushes Bobby over as she rolls backward, retreating to an open space between the house and us. I look in her eyes, and I know she doesn't see me. From my periphery, I see Bobby approach her from her left, syringe in hand. Steph senses his movement and knocks the needle to the ground before distancing herself while yelling, "Get back!" Bobby looks surprised by the effectiveness of her maneuvering and turns to me for guidance. I shake my head no and hold up my hand, slowly inching forward.

It's encouraging she seems to have some awareness of her surroundings. I see Lester and Hector taking silent positions on either side, effectively blocking any chance of escape if she tries to run. I continue to creep towards her as Lester and Hector remain vigilant, waiting on a signal from me. The intensity of emotion on her face is heartbreaking as she struggles to regain control.

Her breathing continues to be erratic. As Steph stands there, she begins scratching her arms, and it's beginning to open the old wounds. I don't want to take her down forcefully if I can avoid it. I'm willing to give her the space she needs to think and come back to me on her own, but I can't let her hurt herself. I'm about to reach out and grab her hands when Steph seems to read my mind, commanding, "Don't!" and holding them out towards me. I hold up my hand slightly, and my men freeze.

We stand there for several long minutes, and I slowly begin to see a change play across her face. I can see her physically struggle to emerge from the mental battle she is engaged in with herself. She blinks hard, and with each blink, I see my Babe return. With shallow, rapid breathing, her eyes lock with mine. "It's not my fault," she whispers.

"No, _Querida,_ it's not," I say as reassuringly as I can, feeling cautious relief at the sound of her voice.

A look of acceptance crosses her expression, and she lowers her arms to her sides. I'm coiled, waiting for her invitation to come to her. She pales suddenly and whispers, "Catch me when I fall." My heart stops as I spring forward, catching her inches before the ground.

Everyone is in motion at once. Lester is opening and holding the blinds back, Hector is turning down the bed, and Bobby is gathering his medical equipment. I lay Step's limp form on the mattress, staying beside her. Lester leaves a glass of water before retreating from the room to wait for Dr. Anderson's arrival while Hector stands guard at the door, his eyes never leaving Steph. Bobby fixes the oxygen mask securely over her mouth and nose.

"Be ready for her to wake up fighting," Bobby tells me. "Catch her arms and talk to her as calmly as you can. Encourage her to breathe deeply and evenly. I don't want to give her medicine unless I have to." I nod to confirm my understanding.

Bobby continues checking Steph's heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen levels. "She's stabilizing," he says before I have to ask. "I believe she is somewhat dehydrated. We need to push fluids for the rest of the day, or I'll administer a bag."

I feel Steph's hand twitch and her muscles reengaging. I attempt the balancing act of being ready for anything but keeping my body relaxed for her sake. I hold both of her hands gently in mine and wait. Bobby is sitting in a chair opposite her, his attention never wavering.

At once Steph's eyes flutter and open. I'm sitting, poised for action, but none comes. Her clear blue eyes instantly lock on mine, and she seems to sag in relief. She attempts to raise her hands to remove the mask once, but I gently apply pressure, and she doesn't fight me. "No, _Querida_ , your body needs it. Rest, please, and breathe deeply. Everything is going to be okay. Just breathe with me," I reassure in a quiet yet slightly commanding voice. I'm hoping it will convince her to listen to me.

Steph complies, and she closes her eyes, her face rolled towards me. "Bomber," Bobby says in a compassionate yet professional tone. "We will leave the mask on for five minutes. If you continue to do well, we will remove it. I want to clean and dress your arms while you rest. Is that ok with you? Please nod yes or no." Steph doesn't open her eyes but nods yes and grips my hands tighter.

I kiss her forehead gently in reply. "You're doing great, Babe. Keep breathing, slowly and deeply. I'm here. I love you," I say, and I begin stroking the sides of her hands with my thumbs. I watch as Bobby inspects her arms. She pushed the sleeves up, but some of the scratches are over the elbow. "Babe, is it ok if I remove your jacket from your arms? We can keep it over your shoulders if you like. Please nod yes or no," I ask for Bobby, knowing she wouldn't want him adjusting her clothing. She nods yes twice. "Okay, Babe. I'm going to let go of your hands for a short moment. Please, don't attempt to remove the mask," I soothingly instruct.

I use my words ahead of my actions as I slowly help her out of the jacket, leaving it under her. I roll her slightly towards me as Bobby starts on the side closest to him. I'm holding her hands again, but Steph has more or less remained impassive. Most of the scratches aren't as bad as I feared, and only a few reopened the deeper wounds. I'm optimistic she'll heal fully in a week or two.

"All done on this side, Bomber," Bobby says. "We'll be rolling you slightly towards me for the next." Bobby is an efficient administrator of medicine, and Steph remains still throughout the process.

"All done," Bobby declares. "Would you like your jacket back on?" he questions kindly. Steph nods yes, and I move to help her again.

Once settled, Bobby asks, "How do you feel, Steph? Are you ready to remove the oxygen?" Steph opens her eyes, looking between us and nodding her head yes. Bobby removes the mask. "Keep laying down, Bomber. We can try sitting up in a moment," he instructs.

I begin to relax my grip on her hands a bit as Bobby removes the oxygen mask, but as soon as I do, her eyes widen slightly, and her grip increases. "Shhhh… it's okay, Babe. I'm not going anywhere," I shush as she takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly.

After several moments, Bobby retakes the lead, saying, "Bomber, when you're ready, try to sit up slowly. If you feel lightheaded or dizzy, stop immediately and lay back down."

Steph nods in understanding and releases my hands as she tucks her elbows underneath her as a prop. I place an arm around her shoulders to stabilize her efforts and offer support. Bobby adjusts the pillows behind her as I settle in a similar posture next to her. She leans her head on my shoulder and clings to my offered hand, continuing to be subdued and quiet.

Bobby checks Steph's pulse, blood pressure, oxygen levels, and respiration rates again and seems pleased. "You're doing great, Steph. Here, drink some water and keep resting. Dr. Anderson will be here shortly to see you," he says, handing her a cup and sitting back in the chair. Steph takes a few sips and passes the glass off to me.

A couple of minutes later, Hector exits and Bobby stands as Lester escorts Dr. Anderson into the room. Bobby walks with Dr. Anderson into the hallway, outside of Steph's earshot, to give her a debrief of recent events. As they converse, I lean across Steph to put the glass down, and as I settle back, I tuck an errant curl from her forehead and kiss the spot it previously rested. "Babe, would you like me here when you talk with Dr. Anderson, or would you like me to step out of the room? It's your choice," I say.

Her big, blue eyes open again, staring directly into me. "Please stay," she says in a scratchy voice. "Please don't go. I'm sorry for all of this."

"Babe, don't be sorry. _Querida, te quiero._ I'll always be there for you," I reassure, kissing her forehead again, and she sighs.

"I love you, too, Carlos. I'm grateful you're here," she says quietly.

Dr. Anderson walks into the room and closes the door behind her. She settles into the chair Bobby vacated before greeting Steph. Dr. Anderson's demeanor is one of the things I appreciate about her. Most people are unable to remain thoroughly professional yet entirely empathetic and compassionate. She exudes trust and confidence. Steph shifts and sits up a little straighter, greeting Dr. Anderson in return.

"Would you like to tell me what happened today, Stephanie?" Dr. Anderson questions.

I feel Steph take a big breath and let it out slowly. "I realized it's not my fault," she states in a small but matter of fact voice. "I've spent my entire life believing that everything that has happened to me is because I deserved it, that I'm a bad and unworthy person, and that I have to atone for my sins. It's a message that's been consistently reinforced time and again by multiple people. Today is the first time I've ever looked at my life and my history from Carlos' viewpoint that I'm not to blame, and it is a difficult thing for me to reconcile, even though I know deep down he is right."

Inside, I'm churning with emotion. I'm filled with relief to hear Steph speak clearly and lucidly. I'm reeling from her panic attack in the garden. I'm enraged towards everyone who created and reinforced the idea that their wrongdoing was Steph's fault. I feel guilty that I might have contributed to the panic attack by pushing her too hard. Mostly, my love for the woman who is bravely picking up the pieces of her life beside me is filling my heart and soul.

"It's not your fault, and that is a brave and difficult concept," Dr. Anderson gently confirms. "The kinds of abuse and trauma you've experienced are about power and control from the offenders. You never gave consent, and any consent you gave, you should have had the power to retract at any time. Sometimes things happen that are completely out of your control. You always have the right to defend yourself. You have great worth."

A tear slides down Steph's cheek. "I never thought I was worth defending," she says quietly. I reach over and take her trembling hand in mine. "I held my family, friends, and community in such esteem that it never occurred to me to question the source. I've always sought to see the good in others, and I assumed that was how other people thought as well. If that assumption is true, based on my history of events and consequences, I can't be good. But, if those people didn't have my best interests at heart, it changes the narrative. For it to not be my fault means I am not loved nor have I ever been loved by my mother, father, sister, ex-husband, ex-fiancée, most of my friends and most of my community. It's a horrible feeling to suddenly know how alone I've been most of my life."

I know without a doubt the biggest regret of my life will be how long it took me to reach a place where I was ready to commit unwaveringly to Steph. I spent too much time at the periphery, contributing to her pain. I'll live my life atoning for that weakness.

Steph shivers as she works to collect herself, and I pull the blanket up. "I was overwhelmed processing the implications, and I felt my survival instincts take over," Steph says when she's ready to continue. "I suppose I panicked, but it didn't feel that way. It felt like I remolded my sense of who I am."

Dr. Anderson actively and patiently listens, nodding her head in acknowledgment of Steph's words. "Today is a big step forward for you," she affirms. "This process is going to challenge and change many of your foundational beliefs, and the goal is that those changes will work towards healing and a better future. Be proud of yourself for undertaking the challenge." She lets those words rest before continuing. "I'm going to give you some tools to equip you better to face that challenge in the future should you experience the same or similarly intense shift in your thinking."

Dr. Anderson proceeds to discuss various clues a panic attack is approaching, breathing techniques and meditation exercises. Steph listens intently, absorbing every word. So am I, wanting to be a better partner.

"With so many changes in your life, I want you to focus on routine," Dr. Anderson continues after making sure Steph didn't have any questions. "Try to go to bed and wake up at the same time every day and create a consistent meal schedule. Work on refining a healthy diet. Excess sugars, fats, alcohol, and caffeine can increase the likelihood of a panic attack. I'm not saying not to enjoy those things, but to enjoy with moderation. Exercise has been shown to have a therapeutic mind-body connection, and yoga is a great way to build mindfulness. When you go to sleep, have a consistent pattern, whether it's a warm bath, reading a book or unplugging from electronics. As I say, be kind to yourself, and this is a good way to start."

Dr. Anderson pauses again to let the information sink in. If there is something I excel at, it's routine, diet, and exercise, and I attribute those things to maintaining my mental health. I'm relieved to hear an actionable step I know I can do to help my Babe. My challenge will be doing so in such a way that doesn't smother Steph or make her feel like she's lost her sense of control.

"Lastly, I hear things were great, and then it seems the bottom dropped out. These emotional ups and downs are very common. As you continue to develop and heal the next couple of months, I believe you'll find you'll feel more even overall. You may settle at a new normal that you did before, but that is also okay. What matters is that you are okay with your level of happiness," Dr. Anderson states.

I'm relieved Dr. Anderson brought this up. The see-saw of the last week is difficult to navigate. That it isn't going to continue long-term but rather that it is a symptom of the issues actively being resolved is heartening.

Dr. Anderson asks Steph if there is anything else she would like to talk about before concluding the session and walking from the room, closing the door behind her. Steph sags against me after she does, curling against my body. I wrap my arms around her and hold her as she rests.

"Thank you," she says quietly, her voice slightly raw, and I'm listening attentively to her words. "Thank you for believing in me, for loving me, for challenging me. Today is hard. I don't think I could face this and do the difficult work of healing without you by my side. I'm sorry if I scared you, and I'm sorry for losing control. I promise to work as hard as I can to prevent it from happening again, although I can't promise it won't. I love you."

I gently kiss her head and draw her closer. " _Querida, mi amor, te quiero._ You have no reason to be sorry. We are both learning and growing as individuals and as a couple. You are an amazing person, and I hope someday you see yourself as I do. I always want to listen to you, I never judge or blame you, and I will always be with you," I say in loving affirmation.

We both rest a long moment, being still in the silence. When Steph is ready, I help her stand, walk to the bathroom, and together we join our family of friends.


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Thank you again for the comments and for reading this story. A reminder that this chapter and the next are a bit heavier, but please bear with me. One of my goals with this story was to honor the path of healing. For me, that includes setting a somewhat realistic pace. I felt as though Steph's previous confessions were less about her and more about the guys. Chapters 38-41 are about _her_ revelations and _her_ beginning to learn how to reincorporate that into her perspectives. That is the catalyst for real change in her life, but that, too, takes work as she has to break the habit of her old ways of thinking. Don't worry wonderful readers - I promise happy is coming! (And of course, more drama. Joe and Ellen wouldn't have it any other way.)

We all owe a big thank you to misty23y, my beta, for helping me keep this story in balance and readable.

* * *

 **Chapter 40**

Date/Time Stamp: Thursday, 20 SEP 1830-2200

 **Stephanie POV**

I know that it's dinner time, and I feel guilty that I caused such a ruckus earlier today. My friends must be worried about me, and I'm embarrassed to have caused them trouble. I hope I didn't hurt Bobby, who was only trying to help. I decide to get up, face the music, and eat. Making my presence known will help to reassure them I'm fine, and getting dinner over with will mean I can go back to my alone time faster.

I feel a bit lightheaded as I stand, and I appreciate Carlos' steadying hand. I use my moment in the bathroom to zone out. I close the toilet room door and lean with my head against the cool wood. _Damn it_ , I think. _Things were going so much better, and now this._ I can feel tears of frustration welling in the corners of my eyes, and I shove them down. I refuse to cry right now.

I pin a neutral expression on my face and rejoin Carlos. I'm silent as we walk and, upon seeing the dining room table set, take the corner seat. Carlos sits next to me and places his hand on my knee under the table. I don't take his hand, but I'm glad he wants to touch me. Hector sits across from me, and I can feel his eyes assessing me. I don't match his stare, preferring to look down at my plate. Lester is next to him, and Bobby sits at the head of the table. They effectively have me surrounded.

I think my brothers sense I don't feel like talking, and I'm grateful when the conversation continues around me. It feels normal, even if I'm not listening. I pick up my fork and stab some chicken. I couldn't be less interested in eating this. I sigh slightly, taking a bite of roasted veggies. I round off my meal with a third attempt, and I set my fork down as my stomach rolls in nausea. Eating is a bad idea right now. I take a swish of water to rinse the taste from my mouth.

"Excuse me," I say to Carlos. "I'm going to rest. Please, stay." I rise and walk down the hall to the bedroom.

I stare into the room, my back leaning against the closed door. I don't want to lay down on the bed. I'm pretty sure that, in the unlikely event I fall asleep, I would instantly wake up from a nightmare. I like the porch, but that's the spot of my most recent meltdown, and I'm not anxious to revisit it today. Heaven knows I'm not going anywhere near a shower or bath.

I'm starting to feel trapped and anxious. I have lived alone since my divorce with Dickie, and while I need my support network right now, my brothers are a very observant group, and nothing I do goes unnoticed. It's not bad, but it is taking some time for me to get used to having their support 24/7. At the moment, I want to curl up and hide.

I wander into the master closet. Someone, probably Carlos, refolded the spare blanket and placed it back on the shelf alongside a pillow. My few pieces of clothing are hanging on one side or in the drawers beside it. _That's all I have left_ , I think. _Morelli took everything else from me._ I pull out the blanket and pillow, shut off the light, close the door and curl up in a nest underneath my hanging clothes.

Being tucked away in my hideout feels safe, and I welcome the darkness. It seems like less work not to be processing all of my senses, reducing the stimulation of what's new in my life. I remember Dr. Anderson's breathing techniques, and I begin to employ one in an attempt to relax slightly.

This afternoon was scary, and while I feel better now than I did before my nap, I have not recovered from it completely. I'm glad Dr. Anderson was able to come to the house again. She offers validation unique from Carlos', and her expertise and impartiality help me find balance. I've never been so overwhelmed I felt as though I lost myself. For me to believe Carlos and Dr. Anderson, to embrace that all these things are not my fault, it means I have to rewrite my mental history and change how I view my relationships with a great many of my family and friends.

It also means I need to accept that in certain moments of my life, I no longer had any power or control. Someone else took that power or control away from me. That's the scariest realization of all. If I blamed myself, even in some way, it ultimately means I retained at least some of that power and control. It gave me the illusion of choice. A tear slides down my cheek as I mourn this truth.

I've always prized my independence and put my _the world can't hold me down with its rules attitude_ forward for all. However, what I craved more than anything, was love and acceptance from my mother. I always wanted her on my side, unconditionally. I wanted to be good enough for her to choose me over the customs and traditions of the Burg and over the idea of having Joe Morelli as her son-in-law. My Jersey girl front was a shield against how alone I felt. Admitting it's not my fault strips that shield away leaving me completely vulnerable.

I roll so that I am facing the wall, and I curl up pressing my feet, my knees and my head against the paint, with my arms wrapped around my middle. A part of me wants to disappear for a moment, to leave this fear, shame, and vulnerability behind. Instead, I continue to practice breathing, staring through the darkness to the wall. I'm okay with being alone right now, and I imagine myself invisible as I attempt to make sense of the new world I now find myself in.

 **Ranger POV**

I feel my blank face slide on as Steph walks away. She has withdrawn again, mentally and physically. I'm frustrated at how backward today feels. I begin to pick at my dinner, wondering how long I should wait until I follow her. It's Hector who speaks first into the silence Steph left in her wake.

" _Mi Angelita,_ this is what she does," he says in Spanish, and I stare intently at him. "After the pimp shot her, she didn't speak for two weeks. Whatever the doctors and caregivers expected of _Angelita_ she did, but she retreated into her mind as she processed everything. Alicia was worried, but I wasn't. I know _Angelita_ is strong. When she did speak, it was with resolution. She said, " _I will learn to fight,"_ and I taught her.

" _Angelita_ is deciding how to fight right now, but she will come back. Be ready to listen to her." Hector finishes.

I sigh, let my blank face fall, and lean against my chair.

"I spoke with Dr. Anderson after Steph's session," Bobby said. "With all the trauma Steph has been through and the number of years she has repressed dealing with it, an event like today's isn't unexpected. She's going to go up and down here for a bit as she faces the ramifications of everything; nearly all rape trauma survivors do as they move through the stages of healing. The amount of time that healing takes is individual. Our job is to support her, love her, and listen to her. It will get better."

"I know," I say in frustration. "I hate seeing Steph suffer. I hate that she blames herself. I hate that I may have caused any of this." It's as open and honest as I get, and the weight of the day is heavy on my soul.

Lester cuts in; his hands curled up in fists on the table. "Me too, but Beautiful has to go through it. That doesn't make days like today suck any less. I could have sworn we lost her for a moment there, and it scared the shit out of me. Remember, we're here for both of you."

"Ranger, you know better than to take on any blame yourself," Bobby says sharply. "It isn't going to help Bomber if you start retreating from us again. Take us to the mats, shoot the shit over a beer, do whatever you need to do to work through what's going on in your head, but do _not_ take on any of the blame."

I nod my head yes. I know they are right, and there's something about hearing the words that put my mind at ease. I decide to change the topic. "Tank contacted me before dinner. Trenton PD, with the assistance of Rangeman, executed the warrant today, finding the hockey bag with a spray paint can, a pair of Steph's panties, and stray poop bag in the back of his truck. He was arrested less than an hour later," I report, but I set my jaw angrily.

"That's great news, so why don't you look like it's great news," Lester replies, looking at me with a frown.

I sigh, and Bobby raises his eyebrows. "Tank joined TPD to arrest Morelli. Morelli refused to answer the door, and when they broke into the premises to arrest him, he was having sex with Terry Gillman. Terry, however, was dressed to look like Steph, and Morelli was wearing one of our Rangeman t-shirts and recording the event. It seems he intended to defame Steph with a graphic sex tape," I state furiously. I take a deep breath to steady myself. "There is a bright side though. Gazarra slapped the handcuffs on Morelli as he ejaculated, and Morelli is in jail in a t-shirt covered in his jizz," I add with a dark and tight-lipped smirk.

Hector stands. "I'm going to make sure the _pendejo's_ stay in jail is a hospitable one," he spits out before walking down the hall to his room. Three pairs of eyes follow him. (asshole)

I finish my meal listening to Lester's depictions of all the colorful ways he hopes Hector improves Morelli's time in the general population before standing and returning to the bedroom. I enter noiselessly and pause inside the door, finding the room empty. I walk to the patio door and push the blinds back to scan the exterior, again empty, and my anxiety rises. I stalk into the bathroom and stop again. My hand pauses at the doorknob of the closet. I desperately pray that for some reason she's in the closet and that she didn't decide to run again.

I turn the silver handle, holding my breath as I stand in the doorway, the light from the bathroom acting as the rays of a searchlight. My eyes scan the interior, and I look twice at a dark form from Steph's side, barely discernable from my vantage. I move slowly and let out my air in relief as I kneel beside her resting form.

As my eyes adjust to the dim light of the room, I study her body's position. She's curled up tightly, her eyes shut. It's clear Steph was crying, but she isn't in distress now. I consider moving her or joining her, but I decide against it. Steph needs time to think and process, and if, as bizarre as it seems to me, the bottom of her closet is where she can do it, then I can't take that away from her.

I move silently to my drawers, changing into my PT gear. Before exiting, I crouch beside my Babe again. I gently kiss the top of her head and whisper, " _Querida, te quiero."_ I close the door behind me and dim but not extinguish the lights in the bathroom and bedroom, leaving the bedroom door open.

I pass Bobby in the kitchen. "Steph's asleep in the closet," I tell him. "Stay here and listen should she have a nightmare," and Bobby affirms his understanding. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and knock on the doors to Lester's and Hector's rooms.

"Mats, now," I bark. I hear Lester groan and smile to myself. It's time to have some fun. I begin my warm up on the treadmill, and five minutes later I'm already in my zone as Lester begins his warm-up beside me on the bike. I finish a three-mile run in a pinch under 17 minutes before stretching and pulling off my shirt. Lester faces me on the mats as Hector begins jogging.

I'm coiled, but relaxed, calculating. I'm singularly focused on Lester's movements, staring him down to anticipate his decisions. I'm known as a legendary fighter with exceptional instincts. It's those instincts that make me the fighter I am. I study the person, and feints do not fool me. That I know Lester as well as I do myself means he has never defeated me on the mats. He keeps trying to beat me, however, and I appreciate the challenge of his perfect form and creative combinations of maneuvers. Anyone else wouldn't stand a chance against him, and Lester knows it.

Today, however, I'm not only fighting Lester, but I'm also fighting the anger, pain, and the sadness of the past week. I see Lester, but I also see Morelli, Steph's mom, and the unknown face of the pimp Steph killed. Lester taps out after 15 minutes, panting and holding his side, blood dripping from a cut on his lip. I blink, my blank face firmly in place, and draw myself to the present. We hug as brothers, and Lester retreats from the room.

Hector takes his place, and we nod once before taking a step back. We begin slowly, each feeling the other out. Hector is a street fighter, and what he lacks in formal training he makes up for in ingenuity. Hector may be the smartest person on my staff. Fighting him is a mental challenge. We spar, moving in and out, testing the waters. I slowly escalate my intensity, intending to wear him down. I circle him like a shark, and when I finally strike, it's fast and deadly.

I look at the clock as Hector taps out, impressed he lasted 25 minutes. We bump fists, and I pour myself a cup of water. As I turn back, Hector stands before me defiantly. "Now we box," he says commandingly. I look at him and give a steely nod of agreement, accepting the challenge.

I often incorporate kickboxing into my workouts, but I don't often formally box, preferring the use of my hands in a mixed martial arts format. I consider the possibility that Hector might have me outgunned in this case, but arrogantly dismiss it. I am the best of the best for a reason. The study of a person is the same regardless of the medium in which we conduct the fight.

Hector and I adjust our equipment, agree on the ground rules, bump gloves and begin as Lester returns post-shower. He stands with his arms crossed near the water cooler, his face hard.

Hector and I are an even draw after five rounds. The sixth begins the same as the others, and we circle each other, moving in and out, neither gaining an advantage. Then, a moment too late, I realize this time Hector is the shark, and he strikes with a furious combination that leaves me instantly on the defensive. He presses forward, and as I move to retaliate, he takes advantage of the opening to catch me off balance. It's only a second, but he sweeps me off my feet and is behind me, pinning me to the mats. I lost.

I'm on my feet the moment Hector backs off, my eyes never leaving his. Hector matches my stare evenly. I know what he is telling me. Stephanie has no chance against me in any other fighting format, but in the ring, so to speak, she is queen. Steph has the potential to be my equal in more ways than I previously gave her credit for, especially in her physicality. I step forward, bump gloves with Hector, and gravely nod my acknowledgment of his unspoken words.

I remove my equipment, stow it away, and accept the water Lester offers as Hector leaves. I step onto the treadmill in a slow jog to lower my heart rate. Lester leans against the wall ahead of me.

"Damn, Ranger," he says, "I did not see that coming."

I remain silent, but I agree. And I fall impossibly more in love with my Babe than I was before.

I finish, stretch, and walk into the kitchen to make a protein shake. Bobby is working on his laptop, maintaining his vigil. "All quiet on the Bomber front," he reports with a small smile.

"You are not going to believe this, but Hector took Ranger to the mats boxing just now," Lester boasts to Bobby, laughing at my defeat. For someone so smart, Lester can be dumb. He's going to pay for his mouth on the mats tomorrow.

Bobby looks between us and joins in Lester's jocularity. "Have you told Tank yet?" he chokes out in astonishment.

Lester takes out his phone and shows the screen to Bobby. "I sent him the whole damn video!" he says with pure delight.

Bobby high fives Lester, saying, "Forward that!" as Lester pushes a couple of buttons.

"Lester, you earned another five days of mats. Bobby, you can join him," I bark. I'm as surprised as they are, but what happens in the gym is supposed to stay in the gym. Their laughter dies a little as Lester rubs his side. I only bruised his ribs. He's lucky I didn't want to break him. I do, however, acknowledge when I've been humbled.

"I think Steph may surprise us yet," I say, putting my cup in the dishwasher and walking into the master.

I look towards the bed, but Steph isn't in it. I start the shower and shed my sweat soaked shorts before entering the stream. Ella bought the Bulgari shower gel for me on a whim, and I hadn't cared one way or another what soap I used before Steph came into my life. When I discovered Steph was stealing the gel along with my t-shirts, it was one of the biggest turn-ons of my life. My heart's been in love with that woman a lot longer than my brain was willing to admit.

I wrap the towel around my waist, dim the light again and pad into the closet. Steph hasn't moved. I slip into shorts and a t-shirt before grabbing a pillow and returning to lay beside her. Where we sleep is geography. What matters is that we are together and that she knows I'm there for her.


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Hello! Thank you for your patience with me during this longer than usual update period. I had a huge weekend, and I'm now getting back to my regular routine. I have decided that, unless I get significantly ahead in my writing again, which is unlikely during the holiday season, I will be updating twice a week for the foreseeable future. A reminder that this is the last of the four more difficult chapters, but to me, some of the most important.

Many thanks again to my beta, misty23y! I appreciate all of your work and contribution.

* * *

 **Chapter 41**

Date/Time Stamp: Thursday, 20 SEP 2200 – Friday, 21 SEP 0100

 **Stephanie POV**

I'm aware when Carlos enters the closet searching for me, but I do not want to talk. I chose my place to rest, and I need to be here. I need to escape into my thoughts and attempt to make sense of my life and my place in my world. My eyes automatically closed in response to the lights, but I evenly continue to breath meditatively.

Most people would feel the need to intrude and push themselves into the cocoon I made, causing me to justify and defend myself to them. Carlos kissed me, and the quiet reminder of his love enveloped me like a security blanket.

I lose track of time laying there. I drift in and out of consciousness, but I never fully fall asleep. My brain whirls like the gears of a clock. Each mental gear moves at a unique rate, but together, they work as a team. Not every gear has specific verbiage. As I lay there, I move from fear and vulnerability to a dim and distant hope. Some people have taken from me, and it's a terrible thing. However, I have people in my life who haven't. I can be scared, but I can trust.

My heart rate increases when Carlos returns to the closet. I do not want him to make me do anything. I want to stay here for as long as I want, and I want to choose when I am ready to move. He leaves the room again, and I exhale in relief. Just as quickly, my panic begins to increase when he returns. I'm frozen, waiting, my breathing forgotten. Silently, he lays beside me, close but not touching. I wait.

In the total darkness, he joins my sojourn, not as an intruder, but as a guest waiting for me to welcome him fully. Emotions burst inside me, waging war as I remain inanimate. Love battles fear. Hope battles shame. Faith battles desolation. I take a ragged breath and whisper, "Carlos?"

He stirs beside me, instantly replying, "Babe?"

"I'm scared. Hold me?" I plead.

Immediately, he gently lifts my head to deftly slide an arm under me, the other over my torso, his hands holding mine. His legs curl around my body, and he does not attempt to draw me from my nest, keeping the blanket over me. I focus on my breathing again, and Carlos matches my pace of inhales and exhales. I mindfully take in his scent, his skin, his warmth and mentally pull it into me.

On an exhale, I find my courage and turn towards him, my limbs stiff and numb at their long disuse. I bury my face in his chest as I let the tears finally fall. I mourn the loss of the innocence of my childhood. I mourn the loss of trust between my mother and me. I mourn the loss of my virginity and my unborn baby. I mourn the betrayal of my community against me from bathroom stall poems reminding everyone of my violation to bets against me that continued my entire adult life. I mourn the lives I've taken with my hands. I mourn Emily, who felt she had no way out. I sob, but I don't lose control. I cry quietly and really, truly begin to let it go.

I know that when I held onto the blame, I may have tried to hold onto my sense of power and control, but what I was holding onto instead was the hurt and pain caused by their actions. I don't rush the tears or feel the need to stop crying before I am ready. I trust Carlos to be here for me. I allow myself to cleanse my soul.

In their own time, my tears lessen, and I pull back slightly, stretching my legs before intertwining them with Carlos'. I grip his damp shirt with my hands, my head under his chin. "It's not my fault," I say softly.

"No, _Querida,_ it's not," he confirms, rubbing small circles on my back.

"They took what they wanted from me. Everyone took away my choice. It's not my fault, because I didn't have the power or the control. I froze, or I fought back, or I ran, but that doesn't mean I wanted or caused any of it," I say, tears falling silently again.

"Oh Babe," Carlos says achingly, kissing the top of my head.

I begin to tremble, and I grip Carlos' shirt tighter, pressing my body against his.

"Shhhh, _Querida_ , you're safe," he soothes.

We begin to breathe together again, long and slow, in and out. I relax my grip one finger joint at a time as we do. I begin releasing nearly two decades of pent of fear and betrayal I never allowed myself to acknowledge.

" _Te quiero,"_ Carlos says softly, "I love you."

I roll upright, and Carlos sits up with me. I pull myself into his lap, my back to his chest, his arms snug against mine as I drape my legs to one side. "I love you, too," I say, eyes closed.

"I'm proud of you, Babe," Carlos says. "It's okay to be afraid. I'm here for whatever you need."

I lean down and kiss his rough hand gently. I feel ready to move on with him.

I slowly stand, feeling a bit woozy as I do. I instantly grip Carlos' forearm as I wobble slightly. "How are you doing, Babe?" he asks neutrally, but I can hear the traces of concern.

I wait a moment, hoping the sensation will pass and is only due to having stiff legs. Instead, the room begins to spin faster. I lean heavily against Carlos as I feel increasingly nauseous and disoriented, groaning the only sound I can make.

Carlos immediately lifts me off my feet and cradles me to him. "How would you feel about laying down on the bed?" he says, and I feel more relief at his kindness than I could have expected.

I nod my agreeance, averting my eyes in embarrassment at my weakness. Carlos kisses the top of my head as he evenly walks into the master, and I close my eyes against the dim light, my head pounding in a dull roar. He sets me down gently and pulls the blanket over me as I begin to tremble slightly at the loss of his body against mine.

Carlos crouches beside the bed, so we are looking at eye level with each other. I can see the worry in his brown eyes. "Could I ask Bobby to check you out?" he queries

I nod again, and his eyes widen slightly at my easy acquiescence. I close my eyes and mumble, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Babe. Everything will be alright. All of us are here to help. I love you," Carlos replies, kissing my temple as he stands.

I'm afraid he's going to leave, and I reach for his hand. Carlos takes his phone out of his pocket, and my anxiety lessens as he stays. A minute later, I hear a light knock on the door as Bobby enters, his bag in hand. "Hey Bomber, how about I take a few vitals?" he says in a gentle tone. I nod again, looking down, mortified. It's only my resolve to stop trying to fix my life alone that is getting through this now.

"Can you sit up for me?" Bobby asks. I pull myself back towards the headboard, and Carlos adjusts the pillows behind me. I close my eyes in a grimace as the room tilts.

"It's okay," Carlos says. "We've got you," and I feel him sit on the bed beside me.

Bobby efficiently checks my blood pressure, my heart rate, makes me say "Ahh," and presses on my unpolished fingernails, watching the color change from pink to white and slowly back again. "You're dehydrated," Bobby diagnoses. "You can slowly fix this by drinking a bunch of fluids over the next several hours, or we can get you to sleep faster with a couple of bags of fluids via an IV. I'd also like to see you eat something. What do you prefer, Steph?"

I'm again incredibly grateful for the choice. "I'm pretty wiped out," I admit. "Let's do the IV so we can all get some sleep. Yes, I'll eat. Bring it on."

Bobby smiles, "Good choice, Bomber." Bobby gets up and returns with a coat hanger from the closet and begins setting up his gear. I look away as Bobby inserts the needle, but he has everything set with hardly a pinch. I let out a long breath as a look at Carlos and give him a small smile.

Lester knocks at the door before coming in. "Chef Les, at your service, Madame," he says with a bow, flourishing one hand over his waist while holding a tray on the other. I let out a quiet laugh as Carlos shakes his head. "Tonight, we are serving banana walnut muffins, apple slices with white cheddar cheese and scrambled eggs with Chef's specialty herb blend." He sets the tray down on my lap. Lester pinches his fingers together, kisses the tips, and declares, "Bon appetite!"

I giggle again, saying, "Thank you, good sir," and I sense everyone in the room relax. "Would anyone like to watch TV while I eat this?" I ask, enjoying the company more than I anticipated but not wanting to be the center of attention while I nibble.

"Of course!" Lester says enthusiastically, sliding on the bed next to Carlos. Bobby passes me the remote, and as I turn on the TV, I spy Hector walking near the kitchen. I catch his eyes and use my own to indicate he should join the party. He smiles slightly at me and settles in a chair on the far side of the room. I stop on a _The Simpsons_ rerun, finding pleasure in the mindless comfort show.

I rest my head on Carlos's shoulder, holding his hand. He gives me an encouraging squeeze, and I methodically work my way through the plates. I finish as _Family Guy_ plays its musical opening credits, and Bobby removes the tray before subtly taking another round of vitals and replacing the bag of fluids. I pull the blanket up to my neck, chilled by the cool saline in the drip, and Carlos wraps his arm around my shoulders. I try to stay awake, but my eyelids become heavy, and I soon lose the fight.

 **Ranger POV**

I feel Steph fall asleep as she becomes dead weight beside me. I pick up the remote and turn off the cartoons. Hector silently walks out of the room the moment I do. Lester, on the other hand, takes a moment to curl up on my free side and fake sleep. I stop myself from rolling my eyes before taking my finger and pressing the pressure point behind Lester's earlobe a little harder than I needed to. Bobby is laughing into his hand as Lester rolls off the bed and onto his ass. "Consider that your eviction notice," I say, a smile playing across my face. Lester stands with a grimace, rubbing his ear.

"It's a good thing Steph is worth it," he grumbles, grabbing the tray on his way out.

"About another 15 minutes," Bobby tells me in a low voice, gently taking Steph's pulse again. "I'm glad she agreed to this. I know I'll sleep easier. She was more dehydrated than I thought. I was planning on returning to Trenton this weekend, but I'm going to stay through next week. I'll do a site inspection of the Miami medical department while I'm here."

"Sounds good," I say evenly.

"Do you have any insight on how we can get Steph to be more motivated to stick to her diet?" Bobby directs at me.

I stop and think for a moment, frowning slightly. "I think Steph wants to, and I know she's embarrassed by all this, but when she reaches a state of high stress, I think her body reacts by shutting down her appetite. I believe her when she says she feels ill. Before she gave me her phone, we listened to the messages together, and the sound of Morelli and her mom's voices caused her to vomit afterward," I say in a voice just above a whisper.

Bobby nods. "So, we need to work on conditioning her mind and body to accept food as a friend again. It's likely this has also become a habit after so long, and establishing a routine is going to help break that," he replies just as quietly.

"Today was rough for her, but more than I first thought," I confess. "We all know about her panic attack, but I didn't fully understand what it meant to her when she realized all this shit isn't her fault."

Bobby becomes still, his eyes widening slightly.

"Those bastards took away her sense of power and control. She's held fast to blaming herself all this time to avoid the pain that follows as a result of her having her choices taken away," I continue, using all my self-control to keep my body relaxed and my words even not to disturb Steph. My eyes flash with anger, however, and I let out a long slow breath to release the tension building within me. I want to rage, lash out, take the first flight back to the Burg and be the dark menace so many of them assume I am. I desperately want to avenge my Babe, but I know it would be the worst possible thing I could do for her. My job is to be here for her and with her.

Bobby lets out a puff of air and shakes his head. "You read about stuff like this in a clinical setting, but it's a lot different when it's about someone you love," he says, hunched forward with his hands in a ball, pensive. A minute later, he sits back in his chair again.

"Okay, so Bomber has already told us what we need to know. She needs choice, but she needs a routine, and she needs more, smaller meals. Steph's abandoned her old diet. Let's keep mixing healthy staples with various ethnic foods, no Italian. Her favorite foods so far are meals where she's connected with us. We'll make it a point to include her in the menu planning and, if she is still willing, we can all work with her to teach her to cook our favorite foods. I suspect Bomber can cook, but that bitch of a mom probably used time in the kitchen to belittle her, so she checked out of the entire process. Being more confident in the kitchen may help increase her sense of power and control over what goes into her body," Bobby says assertively with a ghost of a smile.

I nod while replying, "Yes, I like it. I'll discuss this with Steph tomorrow. We need to do everything we can to keep her in the driver's seat."

Bobby stands and begins to disconnect and remove the IV. He's smooth and fast, and Steph doesn't stir, even as he applies pressure to the vein. A minute later, he's exiting the room. "Get some sleep, Ranger. You need it, too," he says, turning off the light and closing the door behind him.

I lift Steph gently as I slide us both down until we are flat on the mattress. I adjust the pillows and blankets before tucking my own body around her still sleeping one. Our foreheads are nearly touching, and I place my hand over hers. I look at her peaceful face and gently kiss her forehead. God help me, I love this woman more than I love myself.


	42. Chapter 42

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers! May you be reading this chapter beached on a soft resting place filled with turkey and pie, or with whatever your favorite comfort foods may be. This year, I'm grateful I decided to take a chance and write a new story. I never could have anticipated how delightful and rewarding this community of readers could be and how much writing could come to enrich my life. The last two weeks have broken overall readership numbers chapter after chapter – WOW!

I'm also thankful for my beta, misty23y! You have worked hard with me both on this story and also on becoming a stronger writer. I've enjoyed developing a friendship with you through our shared passion for writing and Stephanie Plum.

* * *

 **Chapter 42**

Date/Time Stamp: Thursday, 20 SEP 2100 – Friday, 21 SEP 0130

 **Ellen POV**

It's been almost a week since I've seen my daughter, and in her absence, things have gone right south around here. I can't believe I fell for those big doe eyes of hers, giving into the pleading that she _just needed to get away for a couple of days_. Stephanie always did know how to manipulate me.

Now she's gone and gotten poor Joe arrested! I can't believe the phone calls. The last time this house got so many was when Stephanie shot a man in her apartment. This time, however, I'm convinced the Burg has finally lost its collective mind. The gossip is unreal. I wander back into the kitchen to refill my drink. Damn. The Wild Turkey is empty, and now I have to listen to this nonsense halfway to sober. It's at that illustrious moment my mother chooses to come home from Bingo night at the Senior Center.

I look up as she silently stops in the doorway. For once, mom is quiet, and I find the silence deafening. I use my Burg manners to my advantage. "How was Bingo tonight, mother?" I ask with as much pleasantry as I can manage.

"Tell me you aren't still in love with the idea of Joseph Morelli being with Stephanie, Ellen. I know you've heard the gossip," Edna says, her tone the most serious I've ever heard. I see she's taken in all this drivel.

"You know you can't believe all the rumors we hear every day!" I exclaim. "We know Joseph. He's been in our home, eaten meals at our table at least a hundred times over the years. We know his family. We know he loves Stephanie, and he will give her a good life. How can you cast aside years of relationship over gossip? You should know better, mother," I finish with a scolding tone.

"No!" Edna shouts, and I'm taken completely aback. "You should know better! You should know your daughter better! There's a reason Stephanie couldn't go through with the wedding to Joseph a couple of years ago, and there's a reason she's pushed back on their engagement. I think the only reason she's with that cheating low-life bastard at all is to gain your love and approval, something you've grievously withheld all these years!"

I lean against the counter in shock, and my mouth drops open. Where is this coming from? My mother hasn't yelled at me like this in fifty years.

"I've always thought Joe was good-looking, and I would support Stephanie if she loved him, but truth be told, I never liked him, and I never understood why you were so enamored by him. My opinion especially went down the last couple of years when it seemed to me the rumors of him cheating started to gain steam, and all he seemed to be able to do was yell at her and never help her. I think he's more like his bastard of a father than you want to admit," Edna continues taking a step forward and picking up the empty liquor bottle before setting it down with a look of disappointment on her face.

"It's time to face some hard truths, Ellen. First, I stood next to you when Stephanie left. I looked in her sad eyes, and I've watched her fade away from us all summer. Your daughter, my granddaughter, is hurting, and we've done nothing. With you or against you, _I_ will no longer do nothing.

"Second, as I hear the most recent gossip about Joseph, I'm starting to have some serious questions about your judgment and what you might be hiding from me. In case you missed it, let me recap the latest news for you. He organized a betting scheme against Stephanie, which endangered her life on multiple occasions. He's currently sleeping with numerous other women, including a couple of officers on the force, that Terry Gillman from the mob family, that homewrecker Joyce Barnhardt, and even some of Stephanie's so-called friends. Further, his treatment of those women isn't being whispered as gentlemanly. He tried to set up Eddie Gazarra, a member of our family, and Ranger, who has only ever helped Stephanie, to take the fall for his nefarious deeds. Joseph Morell is now unemployed as a result of all of this. But wait, there's more! Here's the juicy bit of gossip. Right now, the Italian Stallion himself is rotting in a jail cell for destroying Stephanie's apartment and property by smearing dog poop with her underpants on absolutely everything," Edna says emphatically, pausing to look into my eyes as I gasp.

"Take a second," she directs. "Soak that in; better yet, try imagining if it was you. Try imagining if Frank gathered up a whole steaming pile of shit, emptied your panty drawer, and smeared this entire kitchen and all of your precious ironing with it before smashing everything you own to bits. Your favorite collectible plate from _The Sound of Music_. The Ming vase you got at the flea market in New York. The antique and irreplaceable teacup from Great-Grandmother Mazur. Everything you held dear, destroyed by someone who says they love you."

My mother pauses, and I hold my hand to my stomach, feeling ill at the force of the words she's hurling my way. The phone rings and neither of us moves to answer it. When my mother continues, her voice is grave.

"You're an alcoholic, Ellen. It's time to face it. We all know you aren't drinking iced tea. You don't fool anyone. The sauce has made you detached and selfish. The daughter I raised would never value public opinion over her flesh and blood, and she would certainly never push her daughter into an abusive relationship.

"Your actions haven't made a lick of sense concerning Stephanie for her entire adult life. I stepped aside when you married and let you raise your children as you saw fit, keeping my nose out of your business. However, that doesn't mean I stopped watching and listening, especially since my husband died. Now is your best chance to come clean. What are you hiding from me?"

My mother is standing a foot away from me, and despite the diminutive height old age brings, I feel she is looking down on me as she did when I was a child. I feel confused, and I can't seem to form a coherent thought. I slide down with my back against the cabinets and sit on the kitchen floor, my hands covering my face.

"I tried to do the right thing. I tried to raise Stephanie to be respectable, to honor our family name, just like Frank wanted. I tried to give her everything a girl should want," I simper.

"No, you tried to give her what you wanted," Edna replies. "That's the thing, you tried to make her a mold of the Burg, but Stephanie never wanted that. Why are you so fixated on Stephanie being with Joseph?"

I stand suddenly, no longer wanted to be cow-towed by my mother. My eyes flash as I reply, "He's not who I wanted; Joseph is who Stephanie always wanted, and she's done nothing but bring shame to our family as a result! She allowed herself to be fingered by that boy at six, despite explicit orders to stay away from the Morelli's. She acted like a slut, and thank God she didn't end up pregnant, by throwing herself at him on the floor of the Tasty Pastry at sixteen. Then I thought she was finally growing up when she came back from college, only to reignite everything all over again when she ran him over with Big Blue! She failed to keep Dickie Orr satisfied and spectacularly torpedoed that marriage, ruining her chances at happiness. And yet, Stephanie continued to chase Joseph when she took on that ridiculous bounty hunting job, and she made us all look like village fools once again as she paraded him out of the back of a meat truck with a bullet in her bottom. Don't get me started on the numerous embarrassing catastrophes of her employment! Stephanie gave away her innocence to Joseph, and she continues to lead him along. She needs to finally do the right thing and settle down with that man once and for all!"

My heart is beating fast, and I desperately wish for another drink to calm my nerves. As always, it's Stephanie who makes me need a little something stronger. I watch my mother pale and grip the edge of the countertop with trembling fingers.

"Ellen, did you ever read any of the graffiti Joe left around town after the so-called Tasty Pastry incident, or did you just trust the word of the busybodies?" she asks me in a quiet voice that's nonetheless stronger than I expected. I shake my head no.

"I did, and listening to you just now, well, I think I'm beginning to see things differently. My memory isn't what it used to be, but I never did forget the words I saw behind the high school bleachers. Yes, I went looking after Valerie complained to me. It said:

 _Strawberry tipped tits  
Cherry popped  
Plum's broken in for your fun._"

The words settle heavily between us, and I feel my chest tighten.

"After that day, Stephanie changed, and, now that I reflect on it, that's when I began to see her light go out. She's not the only one who changed, however. That's when I noticed you started to care a hell of a lot more about the _Burg_ and began to drink more." Edna pauses to collect herself. She takes a deep breath and grips the counter more tightly. "How certain are you Stephanie _wanted_ to lose her virginity to Joseph Morelli at sixteen?"

Equal measures shame and defensiveness wash over me, and I immediately walk to my bedroom, lay down, and cry.

 **Morelli POV**

Since when in the fuck did I become Public Enemy Number One? I've been in this hellhole jail on some trumped up charges for half a day, and it already feels like a lifetime. It's sometime in the middle of the night, but I won't sleep. I'm a cop in a small cell wearing a Rangeman t-shirt smelling like sex and sweat. My head throbs from the multiple times Eddie _accidentally_ missed the door frame. My knee aches from _accidentally_ falling while walking into the precinct. I used my phone call on my mom, but she didn't answer. I asked for my lawyer, but _apparently_ , he is unavailable. Don't worry, Eddie told me, no one will deny me my rights to be questioned without an attorney present, so I can sit here in this cell with five actual criminals until he does become available. Fucking bullshit.

The cops who were my friends a few days ago told me it's a busy night, so things are backed up. When I arrived, I shared the intake cell with one other person, a skinny white bitch who likely got busted on marijuana charges. The greasy kid looked terrified of me, and I settled in the bottom bunk with ease. He's been released since I've arrived, and I'm now surrounded by five of the biggest Latino's I've ever seen. I'm not a small man, but I look like a child next to the largest one. What keeps me awake, however, are their eyes. Each of these bastards is quiet, and they haven't stopped staring at me as I've casually laid in my bed with my eyes open for the past three hours.

I nearly jump when the motherfucker closest to me speaks, but I keep myself in check. I refuse to show weakness.

"I hear you like to fuck with women," the gangbanger says in a heavily accented voice, his eyes glittering.

"I hear you like to do it rough, especially in the ass," says the spic with tattoo sleeves next to him. "Lucky for you, so do I." I regret looking over and seeing his toothy smile.

The third one reaches over and caresses my hair. A shiver runs down my spine as I jump up and push him away from me. I could fuck one of them, but a gang bang with a bunch of spics isn't my idea of fun. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I say menacingly.

The creepy looking greaser leans in close to me and inhales deeply, closing his eyes and appearing the savor the smell. Goosebumps break out on my arms. "You smell like cum," he whispers.

The long-haired wetback stares back. "I heard you think no means yes. Consider us your welcome to jail party."

All five of them laugh and step closer. Fuck me. When I get out of here, Stephanie Plum will pay for every ounce of pain I endure in this place. Every way that these motherfuckers take me, I will take her. I'll make sure to bring some friends to the party as well. As they say, the more the merrier. Get ready, Cupcake.

 **Tank POV**

I lay down on the couch in my office to catch a few moments of quiet before heading to the courthouse. A lot of things went right today. I'm proud of Rangeman, and especially Little Girl, for the case we built against Morelli. I've never seen Senator Juniak or Chief Kovacs so angry as they first reviewed the surveillance reports and background investigation before viewing all of the various surveillance feeds. Juniak broke a chair watching Morelli destroy Little Girl's apartment.

The judge granted the warrant in record time. I wasn't sure if we were going to easily find physical evidence linking Morelli to the vandalism in Steph's apartment. If I'm honest, my estimation of Morelli's abilities as a Detective was still high enough that I thought he'd make an attempt at hiding the evidence. Nope. The hockey bag, spray can, extra poop bags, and even a souvenir panty were all waiting for us like a fucking Christmas present in the back of his truck.

Kovacs had no problem with me joining them on the arrest. I think he knew I needed to see Morelli humbled. Now, I've seen people react a lot of ways to being apprehended. I've experienced everything ranging from quiet relief at being caught to nuclear rage. I've had people piss their pants, beg for mercy, and bargain. I've never had anyone fucking jizz themselves.

It took a moment for me to process the scene initially. The woman Morelli was roughly fucking scrambled away to cover herself up, and it wasn't until she took off the wig I realized it was Terry Gillman, the so-called Mob Princess. I became suspicious when I realized Morelli was wearing a Rangeman t-shirt he must have filched from Steph. I had to scan the room a couple of times before I saw the video camera under the coffee table.

I donned a pair of gloves before picking it up and initiating the feedback. My anger reached new heights as I figured out they were making a revenge tape against Steph, making it look like she is fucking random Rangemen. I turned over the camera to Kovacs before making my way towards Eddie. If anyone deserved to be the arresting officer, it's him, and I'm looking forward to working with Gazarra in the future. I met his eye, and he nodded before looking away. I walked slowly towards the motherfucker, my eyes boring into him with a look that leaves most men sniveling. Even Morelli, arrogant bastard that he is, paled and kept his big mouth shut as flicked my knife open an inch from his face. I traced the tip of the blade from under his eye down to his breast, stopping at his heart.

"You're wearing stolen property," I growled. "If you weren't coated in such pungent prison perfume, I'd rip the entire shirt off your pathetic body. As it is, you will not tarnish any member of my company by association. You're the worst kind of person, Morelli, and prison is too good for you." Morelli stopped breathing a moment as I pushed the blade harder into his shirt, scraping the skin as I cut out the Rangeman logo. He whimpered in relief when I took a step back and closed the blade again. It's not my fault Morelli fell into my fist as Gazarra escorted Morelli out of the house.

My phone rings and the ID shows it's Bobby. 0100 is late for him to be calling, but maybe he wants to talk about that video Lester sent of Hector taking Ranger to the mats. That's an instant classic, but I'd never let Ranger know that. I value my body more than Lester does.

"Yo," I say.

"Tank, I'm calling you with an update about Bomber. Ranger is too tied up to contact you himself," Bobby replies with a heavy voice. I release the recline on my chair and sit up, immediately tense.

"Go on," I say a little more gruffly than I intended.

"Steph had a major panic attack today. She tried to rally afterward, but she's not completely recovered. I don't know how much Ranger told you, but she's borderline anorexic at this point. The stress of the past week combined with her poor diet had caused her to become feverish and dehydrated. We're continuing to work on improving her calorie count, and I gave her a couple of bags of fluids before bed," he reports.

"Fuck," I say under my breath. I should never have waited to tell something to Ranger about my suspicions. I should have been a better friend to Little Girl, and maybe I could have prevented some of this from happening to her.

"It seems Steph has spent the last twenty-five or so years blaming herself for everything, and today is the first time she realized it isn't. I think it's possible she's reached her rock bottom, and from here on out is the work of rebuilding herself. I planned on coming back to Trenton this weekend, but I'm going to stay at least another week," Bobby continues with an edge of sadness on his voice.

"Take care of her and Ranger," I say. "We'll get through this. At least Morelli's finally off the streets." I knocked the wind out of Morelli when I hit him, but now I wish I would have castrated him with my bare hands.


	43. Chapter 43

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Hello again! It's been crazy busy in my life. I loved posting three times a week but that will not be possible in the near term, likely through the holidays. If I have not replied to your comments yet, please know I have read them and valued them. I am grateful for your encouragement and insights into this story. Thank you!

Thanks again to misty23y. I love your stories, and we ALL appreciate your talent applied to this effort.

* * *

 **Chapter 43**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 21 SEP 0130-1200

 **Morelli POV**

"Morelli, your attorney's here," barks out Officer Rizzo, a nobody cop who works nights. He cuffs me before escorting me from the cell like some common criminal. I don't give my cellmates the privilege of a backward glance, but truth be told, I'm glad to have a break from them. I have no idea who my lawyer might be, but I'm guessing my mom got my message.

I'm dumped unceremoniously in an interrogation room. I hold out my cuffed hands to Rizzo, but he snorts and locks the door behind me. "Asshole," I mumble under my breath before turning and seeing Dickie Orr sitting at the table with his briefcase open beside him. I sit, staring him down.

"Look, Joe," Dickie starts. "I might not be your first choice for a lawyer, but the fact is you are a blacklisted client around town who made too much to qualify for a public defender. I heard about your arrest drinking at a bar tonight and cursing Stephanie for ruining my reputation, political aspirations, and career. I decided to come down here and help you. I'm not doing this because I like you, and I damn sure think you're guilty. I'm doing this because we are both want to see Stephanie pay in whatever way we can."

I shake my head. Man gets to the point. "Alright," I agree. "Where do I sign?" Dickie hands me the client intake paperwork, and I get to work signing the contract. These cuffs are fucking annoying. "When do I see the judge? Any idea what these fuckers are trying to charge me with?" I ask.

"You'll be transported to night court within the hour. I haven't received a copy of the charges yet. If the judge sets bail, that's also going to be an issue. Since you skipped out the last time you were arrested, and since you're Stephanie's ex, along with Ranger being the number one bounty hunter in the area, no bail bondsman in Trenton, hell, maybe in even Jersey, will touch you," Dickie warns.

Dickie asks me a few questions about my firing, and I assure him it was a big misunderstanding. We are commiserating on what a lame lay Cupcake is when Rizzo reappears. "I'm your escort tonight. Let's go," he barks, jerking me up. I'm getting really tired of being tossed around like a beanbag by these people who are supposed to be my friends.

My head clips the top of the squad car as Rizzo thrusts me into the back seat. I'm not going to give anybody who crosses my path, from TPD asswipes to the spic douchebags I shared a cell with, the satisfaction of even a grimace. I know how this shit works, and no one will ever accuse a Morelli of being a pussy. I glance at the clock on the dash and see it's nearing 2 am.

I nod off in the holding room while waiting for the bailiff to call my case. The bailiff barks my name, and I shuffle forward. I pause to glance around the nearly empty courtroom, but of course, Ranger has his spies everywhere. My eyes narrow when I see Tank sitting next to Juniak, Kovacs, and some suit I don't recognize. Why in the hell are those three sitting together? Is this a fucking set-up? I do a second take to the far seat on the prosecutor's side, and I realize my mother is sitting in the corner. For the wrong team. Why is she sitting over there instead of by me? She can't possibly be drinking the Rangeman Kool-Aid.

Dickie joins me at the table. "Want to recant your bullshit story and tell me the truth yet?" he mumbles under his breath. "You're in deep shit."

I groan when I realize the judge is Her Honor Mary Bosso. She is the same bitch who charged me in the Carmen debacle that brought Cupcake back into my life. The judge reviews the file before more before leaning back and regarding me with a frigid stare. "Welcome back to my courtroom, Mr. Morelli," she says in a clipped tone. "I see you've been busy."

Next, she begins reading the charges. What in the living fuck is going on here?! They are trying to get me on three indictable offenses?! I'm not a fucking felon! Burglary, Second Degree. Conspiracy, Second Degree. Stalking, Fourth Degree. I grind my teeth in fury as I hear the additional misdemeanor charges. Reckless Behavior and Criminal Mischief with Damages, Third Degree. Peering, Fourth Degree. Terroristic Threats, Third Degree, multiple counts. Hindering Apprehension or Prosecution, Second Degree, multiple counts. Slander, Defamation Per Se, multiple counts. I see red when I hear that they threw in Disorderly Persons potshots. Unsworn Falsification to Authorities, multiple counts. Harassment, multiple counts. I'm not even sure I've heard all the goddamn charges there are so many are listed.

I do a panicked mental assessment. If Ranger and his goons, and I know they are behind this, succeed in framing me, this is at least forty years if served consecutively and more than $300,000 in fines.

"How do you plead, Mr. Morelli?" Judge Bosso asks. I'm too enraged even to form the required reply.

"My client pleads _Not Guilty_ , Your Honor," Dickie responds. They go through more formalities, and I vaguely hear Dickie confirm he will set a Pre-Indictment Conference date with the Prosecutor's Office.

"Mr. Morelli, the State considers you a flight risk. Bail will be set at the maximum allowable, which in this case is $500,000," Bosso says before banging her gavel. "In the meantime, you'll be remanded to a State Penitentiary awaiting trial." As I'm escorted out, I pass my cellmates from TPD.

"Enjoy your body cavity search," the one with long hair calls out.

"See you soon, _puta_ ," catcalls the big one. (whore)

I sneer in return as my heart hardens further against my Cupcake.

 **Tank POV**

They say nothing good happens after 0200, but tonight is a fine exception to the rule. The Prosecutor's Office is outdoing themselves. Judge Bosso is an old friend of Senator Juniak's, and I'm sure it's not a coincidence she's on the bench tonight. It took all my Ranger training to keep from laughing aloud as Dickie Orr, ass clown himself, joined Morelli as his attorney. It's not great news for Stephanie's morale, but what Orr fails to realize is Stephanie never torpedoed his career. He took care of that all by himself by sleeping with clients, clients' spouses, and having fewer wins than losses in court. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum will never succeed in winning this case. By the time they finish listing the cacophony of charges against Morelli, he's the color of marinara.

I made sure to pay a personal visit to Vinnie, Les Seabring and every other bail bondsman in Trenton poper with follow-up calls and emails to every business in Mercer County this afternoon. I can't ensure no one will eventually bond Morelli out if he can find enough collateral with his quickly eroding public support in the Burg, but he certainly won't be employing any local businesses. Seeing Angie Morelli cowering in the far corner is an unexpected treat. It would see even Morelli's mother is starting to see through his bullshit.

I shake the Senator's and the Chief's hands and thank them along with Rangeman's attorney before departing the courtroom. I text Ranger a summary of events with all the pertinent info and let him know I'll be available in the morning to discuss. He's got a more important mission at hand right now.

 **Stephanie POV**

I rip myself out of the nightmare and into the present. I'm panting from the exertion and reeling from the waves of fear. My mind is raging at me tonight as my personal history is rewritten in light of revelation, and it's brutal.

"Babe?" Carlos mumbles sleepily beside me.

I immediately roll over so that I'm practically on top of him, wrapping myself around his body. He adjusts the blanket around us as his arms envelops me. I press myself into his chest and breathe deeply. I relax further when he kisses my head and tightens the embrace. Carlos accepts me, without questioning or judgment. I don't feel weak or somehow less in these moments of human fragility. In this moment of vulnerability, I feel my trust in this man growing, my gratitude for his presence increasing, and joy, which is the light and antidote to my fear, accepted. Tears flood in my eyes and I have no idea if they are happy tears or sad tears. All I know is that I love this man with my entire person. He is my peace and my future, no matter the war currently raging in my life.

I let out a sigh and, in that perfect security, I fall into a dreamless sleep. When I awake again, it's in the same warm embrace, and we are bathed in streaks of sunlight filtering through the corners of windows. I don't move, but I allow myself to come alive to the day gently. As I do, I mentally review the events of yesterday, and I consider how I want to proceed forward today.

There is a part of me that is desperately embarrassed by my breakdown yesterday and wants to hide or pretend it never happened. I'm immediately self-aware that that's the attitude that helped get me into this situation. As I question my old entrenched way of doing things, wondering why I always shut my feelings down, my mind wanders to the reactions of Carlos and my brothers. It hits me like a thunderclap.

When have I ever had a reason _not_ to hide my feelings and emotions? Never. In my family and the Burg, any display of emotion is immediately shushed and then used as ammunition in the form of gossip or meddling. Here I am, in Carlos' home, my home, surrounded by my new family. My life is filled with people who are worthy of my trust, and therefore, are worthy of knowing my story. It's alright for me to fall apart because these people aren't interested in tearing me down. They only want to love me and build me up. I hope never to have a day like yesterday again, but I also know I don't have anything to fear in this house. I can be me.

I lightly trace a lazy finger on the ridges of Carlos' abs. His hand comes down and covers mine, and I kiss his fingertips. "Good morning," I say quietly.

"Good morning," Carlos replies, and I can feel the vibrations through his chest against my ear. "How are you feeling?"

I adjust my body so I can look directly at Carlos, our fingers now intertwined. "Yesterday was awful," I admit. "But it needed to happen. You were right, and for me to move beyond this moment in my life and towards a better future for myself and us, I needed to hear and accept it. I'm not going to lie and say everything is great now. It's not, and, if I'm honest, I feel a bit emotionally frail. However, I also feel lighter and more hopeful. I can't get through this transformation on my own, and I'm grateful I have you."

Carlos gives me a light kiss before replying, "I'm relieved to hear you say so. I'm sorry if I pushed you too hard."

"No, no!" I respond quickly, lifting my head to match his gaze. "You can't take undue responsibility either. You have only ever sought to help me and to love me. In no way do I think you had anything to do with causing the panic attack yesterday." I desperately hope I can reassure Carlos. His strength and determination combined with patience and wisdom are invaluable to me.

I look down again and kiss his smooth, bare chest before wiggling my hips so I can face Carlos. He adjusts his arms so that one cradles my head as I do, but my body remains intrinsically entangled with his. I study his face as though this is my first time seeing it. I see the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth. I see a small scar at his hairline and behind his left ear. I nearly lose myself in the warmth of his endlessly deep brown eyes. I use my free hand to brush his dark hair away from his forehead, and I let my fingertips gently travel across his temple before cupping my hand on his cheek.

"I don't think I ever knew what love is until you. For reasons I don't fully understand, you've found me worthy of your love, and the more I embrace that worthiness, the more loved I feel. And I love you with my whole heart," I say softly before leaning in to kiss him. I kiss him again and again, on his lips, on his cheeks as my forehead rests on his and then back to his lips again. My lips slowly part, and he responds to my leading. Carlos' arm's hold me securely, and when our tongues lightly touch, it sends a surge through my body ending in a shiver I know he can feel. I moan quietly as we both lose ourselves in this connection and feel the desire for oneness grow between us.

When the need for air forces us to pull apart, I scoot my body so that my head rests in the crook of his shoulder, never losing contact with his skin. Carlos kisses my head before huskily saying, " _Querida, te quiero_. I love you, unconditionally. We agree then; none of this is your fault nor mine. I am grateful to be here with you, and you are the only place I want to be. It's okay to lean on me, and I'll always be there for you, as I know you are for me. I'm sure that sometimes I will need to lean on you, too, as we will forge our future together."

My eyes water at the huge heart of this warrior before me, and I wrap my arms around him once again. It's at that moment my stomach interjects. I feel Carlos laughing more than I hear it, and I join him. "Breakfast, then!" I say between my giggles.

We quietly ready ourselves for the morning, and Carlos dresses quickly. I tell him to go ahead, and that I'll follow when I'm ready. I undress to change into a fresh set of leggings and a hoodie, but I pause as I examine my newly bandaged arms. So much for healing.

As I stand there looking at the evidence of my meltdown, I can't help but feel my insecurities about facing Hector, Lester, and Bobby creep back in. I feel like everyone says I'm strong, but I see a glaring amount of weakness. I feel like I'm letting people down by not being able to move on quickly, and that would be my fault. I feel like I should be better than I am.

I decide to take the long way to the kitchen, and I step out onto the porch and continue through the pathway to the main veranda, stopping at the water's edge. I sigh and sit, removing my socks and pulling up my pants to dip my toes in the water. The breeze this morning is slightly crisp, but the sun is warming. The water temperature is warmer than I expected for September, but then again, this is South Florida.

I'm not at all surprised when I sense someone's approach. I'm pretty sure a bird can't take a dump on Carlos' property without Rangeman knowing about it. As the person lowers beside me, I glance in my periphery to Lester removing his boots and socks to join me. "Morning, Beautiful," he says, nudging a plate he sets between us my way. I glance down and see a muffin, probably lemon, with a side of yogurt with fruit and a cup of coffee Steph-style.

"Thanks," I mumbled, picking up the coffee before picking up the muffin. I've come to know Lester as someone who fills the silence, and I find pleasant relief in the unexpectedly quiet companionship. As I nibble, sip, and think, I realize acceptance often isn't a verbal assurance but instead built by being present in moments.

I finish my meal and brush off my hands before placing them palms down behind me as I lean back. I love the southern sun as compared to New Jersey. It feels closer, as though the rays are enveloping my body with their glorious warmth. I let out a sigh as I smile to myself, eyes closed. I use the moment to push my insecurities away and quiet their niggling voices. I'm not yet the person I want to be, but I am closer to that person than I was a week ago. I need to be kinder to myself and focus on my accomplishments and not my perceived failings.

I tilt my head and crack my eyes to peer at Lester. He's back on his elbows beside me, eyes also half closed, but I can tell he notices my change in attention. "It's not too late to back out of being my mentor at Rangeman," I state. "I understand if training crazy-pants over here isn't what you signed up for." I don't want him to back out, but I also need to hear his commitment.

Lester snorts. "Of course I want to be your partner. It'll be one of the best jobs I've ever had. For the record, I don't see a crazy-pants," he replies without hesitation. I sit silently, absorbing his perceptions into my own. I cock my head towards him when he begins again a minute later.

"Do you know why I call you Beautiful, Steph?" Lester asks, and I shake my head no with uncertainty. I thought it was a playboy name to piss off Carlos, but I decide to say nothing. "It's because that's who you are from the inside out. You have the rare ability to see beyond what people look like and find the good inside. I'm certain you have no idea how much you have changed all of our lives with your spirit. You freely love and give, and it never comes across as forced or false. You are the best person I know." Lester never moves from his relaxed posture, so sure of himself and his words. I, on the other hand, sit up straighter with my mouth hanging open.

I have nothing to say to this, so I lay back on the deck, once again humbled. As I do, my inner resolve strengthens. I do not want to let down Carlos, Lester, Hector, Bobby, or Tank. I might not feel like the person they seem to think I am, but I want to be. "I want to pass Rangeman physical fitness standards. In no way do I want any of your employees second guessing my ability to be a part of the team or to believe I'm only there because of who I do not and not what I do," I reply, effectively changing the subject.

"I'd expect nothing less," Lester evenly replies. "You are already a part of the team because of what you do, and I suspect from watching you this week that you are closer to the fitness standards than you've let on. I plan on doing a full initial assessment with Bobby on Monday, if you are feeling up to it, that is."

"Yes. Sounds good," I affirm. This week has been chaotic and unpredictable, and I immediately feel better with an actionable goal ahead of me. "Can we start by doing something today? I don't want to keep sitting around here, thinking, and waiting for more news from the Burg. I want to be busier, but you're right, I'm still recovering physically, and I'm not up to something exceptionally strenuous."

"How about yoga?" Lester responds. "I find it helps relax me and improves my flexibility in martial arts. I incorporate it into my routine at least three times a week."

"That sounds perfect. Tell me when and where," I reply, already looking forward to it.

Lester glances at his watch. "Let's meet out here after your appointment with Dr. Anderson. I liked having something physical to help me process the mental overload after I met with her," he states, and I nod in agreement. The unspoken admission of _I get it, and I've been there_ doesn't escape me. I let out a long stream of air, and as I do so, I'm reminded that I'm not surrounded only by men I now consider my family. I'm surrounded by men who have their scars and have fought their own serious mental health battles. My brothers have lived lives with the expression 'No Man Left Behind' as a tenant of their core ethos. I am one of their own as much as I now consider them my people. They love me, they will stand by me, and they do not judge me against some random and outdated standard. It's okay, yesterday is okay, and I'm going to be okay.

Lester stands and taking his offered hand, I also rise. As I steady myself on my feet, I turn and suddenly embrace Lester in a fierce hug. Tears prick my eyes, and I feel relief flood through my system. I have found people who are worthy of my trust, and they will help me mend my wings so I can fly higher than I imagined. Lester stiffens in surprise at my unexpected contact, but he softens only a second later. "Thanks, Lester," I say quietly, my voice quivering as I do.

"No problem, Beautiful. I'll always have your six," Lester replies, and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I break away. I adjust my leggings before picking up the dishes and strolling back into the kitchen feeling much more optimistic about the day.

I greet Bobby warmly as I load the dishwasher. He pulls back a chair at the breakfast bar, and I sit beside him. He checks in with me about my general health, and I'm able to confidently reply I'm feeling much better both physically and emotionally. I reach over and squeeze his hand before I wander in quest of Carlos.

I knock on the frame of his office door before peeking my head around the corner. Carlos looks up from his desk and gives me a smile that makes those small lines I noticed around his eyes this morning crinkle. He pushes back his chair slightly, and I close the short distance to him and settle slightly diagonally on his lap. In doing so, our faces are even, and I can't resist a quick kiss before resting my head in the crook of his neck. This man smells like heaven. "What are you working on?" I ask. I feel Carlos tense slightly before reporting the latest Burg news to me.

"I spoke with Tank regarding the case against Morelli. He was formally charged last night on three felony charges and a handful of others. They are detaining him in a State Penitentiary instead of $500,000 bail. The Rangeman attorney forwarded me the pertinent documents, which is what I was reading when you walked in. I also did my daily review of your phone messages," Carlos states with compassion softening his usually detached and authoritative tone for reporting facts. I pull my body straight and look at him.

"Morelli is in jail? For vandalizing my apartment?" I respond incredulously. I know he said it was coming, but Morelli has gotten away with so much shit in his life that I didn't think it was going to happen. My eyes are huge as I wait impatiently for Carlos's response.

"Yes, Babe, among other charges. TPD will arrest Mooch today. He will also appear before a judge this morning, if he hasn't already, to be formally charged and bail set," Carlos states. His hands move to massage my biceps as I silently absorb the information. "What are you thinking, Babe?" he asks quietly.

I sit in shocked stillness a moment before I feel a weight I didn't know I was carrying lift from my soul. Morelli was arrested. He is in jail. He is charged with multiple felonies. I'm believed, and this isn't my fault. "Wow," I say softly before I bite my lower lip. "This is," I start before shaking my head at my inability to articulate myself. "This is so _good_." I turn slightly and wrap my arms around Carlos's neck, kissing the side of his face. I had no idea that Morelli sitting in jail would make me feel so relieved.

As I sit back again, Carlos reaches for my phone. "There is one message for you," he says while hitting play.

 _ **Friday, September 21**_ _ **st**_ _ **, 7:53 a.m.**_ _"Good morning, Stephanie. I knew you weren't going to answer the phone, and I sure hope you are having the time of your life with that beefcake Ranger. I suspect, however, that there is more going on with your trip than I first considered. You see, the gossip around here has never been hotter, and word has it that horse's patoot. Joseph has got himself fired and arrested and all because of things he did to you."_ I hear Grandma let out a long sigh, and when she speaks again, her voice is somber.

" _Stephanie, I may be old and eccentric, but I'm not a fool. I owe you my deepest apologies. I understand now what happened at the Tasty Pastry all those years ago, and I understand only some of the harm I let happen to you by your mother when I didn't step in or give voice to my concerns. I should have been there for you, and I should have said or done something. I am sorry. For whatever time I have left before the Good Lord calls me home, know that I will spend it being the Grandma you should have had all along. I love you, and I'm proud of the person you are."_

I sit in shocked stillness. I have always considered Grandma my special person. She's the only one in my family who tells me they love me and means it. I know no one in my family has ever said they are proud of me or used the word sorry sincerely. "Wow," I whisper, words once again failing me.

I relax against Carlos, and I let myself uninhibitedly enjoy this profound moment where again I am believed and validated. As I sit there, my hand snakes absentmindedly to the waistband of Carlos' cargo pants and I pull out the end of the black shirt to let my fingers trail on the warm skin of his hip. All of this is _good_. I close my eyes in contentment, and as increasingly relaxed as I feel, I notice Carlos tense slightly, and small goosebumps graze my fingertips where smooth skin just was.

I tilt my head and raze Carlos' earlobe with my teeth before seductively whispering, "Ricardo Carlos Manoso, are you ticklish?" and change my idle caress to a lighter tease. Carlos groans deeply before twisting and sliding his hands around my waist. His hands dance up my sides, and I fall apart in giggles.

"Babe," he growls huskily, and as he nips my ear, a delightful shiver flows through me, warming me from deep within. "I would never confess to such a thing. It could destroy my reputation," he defends, and as I collapse against him, stops his merciless ministrations.

"Okay, okay," I gasp out with a broad smile. "You win this time, but now I know your weakness."

"Those are fighting words, Babe," he admonishes with mock seriousness, crooking an eyebrow with a smile ghosting across his lips.

"And I never lose," I challenge before kissing him fiercely.


	44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Many thanks again to the fabulously engaging and wonderful readers of this story. You guys rock.

Update - It's amazing how when you read this on the computer vice Word that different things pop out to you. There were one too many minor mistakes for my liking, and I updated a couple of grammatical errors. If you've read it already, the content is the same.

Hats off to misty23y, beta extraordinaire, whose time lent to this project when she has her own stories to work on is much appreciated.

* * *

 **Chapter 44**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 21 SEP 0600-1200

 **Ellen POV**

After 40 years of the same routine, I easily brush aside my childish crying of last night to begin this morning the same as all of the others. Frank has expectations, and it's my job to meet them. He made it abundantly clear when we married that I would take care of the household and tend to his needs, and he would ensure I would never want for anything, even if we didn't live an extravagant life. It's an agreeable deal. He's corrected me over the years when I've slacked on my end of the bargain, but I've quietly accepted his complaint. It is my Godly duty, after all, to obey him.

Strolling by the phone on my way to make breakfast, I made the unusual decision to remove the receiver from the hook. My mother has also quietly gone about her business this morning, and while we haven't spoken much, I can feel her eyes constantly boring into me. The unspoken judgment keeps me from running out and buying another bottle. But Good Lord, my headache this morning is so horrible I can't eat breakfast, and my hands won't stop shaking.

I sit down at the computer to Google my symptoms, convinced the stress Stephanie has me under must be making me ill. I stare at the screen in disbelief. Alcohol withdrawal? It can't be. I don't drink that much, do I? I thought back again to my conversation with my mother last night, and suddenly I'm not so sure that I'm not dependent on alcohol. Have things crept up on me for so long that it got this bad? Surely not. I'm a foolish woman. I should make an appointment with my doctor and stop all this nonsense.

I'm shutting down the computer as the doorbell rings. I plaster my Burg housewife smile on my face while I open the door to reveal an exhausted-looking Angie Morelli. My smile falters as I invite her into the dining room for coffee and a slice of cinnamon coffee cake. My mother silently joins us. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" I inquire as I set a plate and mug before her.

I watch in astonishment as Angie ages ten years before me, her shoulders slumping as she wipes her brow with her hand. "I'm sure you've heard some of the gossip flying around town, and mother to mother, I feel I owe it to you to set the record straight as best as I can," Angie says regretfully. "Most of all, I owe you an apology for failing to raise my son to be the man Stephanie deserved. I believed a lot of the lies Joseph told me over the years, mostly because I wanted to. I wanted to believe I didn't raise him to be just like his father." Angie stops, and I sit there in shocked silence. I watch my depressed friend gather the courage to look me in the eyes before continuing with a stronger voice than before.

"I sat in the courthouse last night watching as the prosecutor charged Joseph for multiple felonies against Stephanie. He didn't know I was there, and as I watched his reactions to the Judge and other members in the courthouse, I saw his face morph into a look I've only seen on his father."

The pause sits heavily between us. I heard the rumors that Morelli Senior was an abusive drunk, but this is the first time Angie verbally confirmed it. "I spoke with Eddie before coming over here," Angie suddenly continues. "I needed more, I guess, proof that my Joe had become the person I was afraid he had, that Joseph had turned into his father. He told me as best as he could without compromising the investigation that there is no doubt, Joseph, with some help from Mooch, destroyed Stephanie's apartment using dog poop, among other things. He told me Joseph was fired from his job because he orchestrated betting against her at the station and then lied about it and tried to frame someone else for it. But the thing that has saddened me most of all is when Eddie told me about the scene they walked into when they went to arrest Joseph in his home. He was engaged in a sexual act with Terry Gillman, but Terry was dressed up to look like Stephanie, and Joseph was recording the deed. Terry told police Joseph intended to use the tape to destroy Stephanie's reputation with the gossip of old biddies like us."

Angie takes a sip of her coffee with trembling hands while attempting to maintain what's left of her dignity and composure. My mind is exploding with this information and the source. I have no reason to doubt Angie in any of this. She has made my dining room her confessional, and her sin is how she raised Joseph. She is sitting here telling me that her son is guilty of hurting Stephanie, more than once.

"The legacy of domestic abuse that I endured has been passed to my son. I'm glad Stephanie left town, and I'm grateful they do not seem to be in a relationship anymore. This cycle needs to end with us," Angie declares emphatically as my eyes widen. Her words gain steam, and suddenly, she's pouring her life out at my table, her face awash with emotion as she stares out the window behind me.

"I know about the garage incident when Stephanie was a child. My husband beat me severely when I attempted to intervene. I know about how promiscuous Joseph was in high school, and that behavior was again encouraged by his father. Joseph's leaving of notes around town after the Tasty Pastry incident with Stephanie was appalling, and I tried to remove them whenever I saw them. It's an embarrassment to our entire family.

"I'm going to tell you something I never told anyone, and it's because I hope it helps Stephanie. My husband routinely raped me during our marriage. He wanted sex; he took it. I never did anything about it, because it wasn't until recently I learned a wife isn't obligated anytime, anyplace, anyway just because she took a ring. Joseph grew up in a home where he was taught men are dominant and to never ask for sex. I encouraged his view through my meekness and compliance. I'm afraid he became obsessed with Stephanie and raped her in high school. I watched her from afar that year, and she never seemed the same after it." Angie stops to take a huge breath. My mouth is slightly open in shock, and I notice my mother has the most composure of anyone in the room. I see unshed tears flood Angie's eyes unbidden as she continues.

"It's not enough, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry to you that you have been made to watch your daughter suffer at the hands of my son, and I'm sorry to Stephanie for the pain she's endured because of my family. I am determined to end the tacit approval the actions of my son get when I stand by and do nothing," Angie tells me with brokenhearted determination. Her eyes never match mine until the last statement.

I am twisting my hands in my lap, and I can't find my tongue to reply. My mother steps up. "I can only imagine how hard it was for you to come over here and share this with us, Angie. We will keep your words in confidence, and I promise you neither one of us will spread your secrets. I also share your concerns about Stephanie and Joseph, and I deeply appreciate your candidness. Thank you for this information," she says in the same voice of strength I heard last night.

Angie murmurs her thanks as she stands, and my mother escorts her out before returning to sit in the chair Angie vacated. I'm frozen as I absorb everything Angie has said.

"Do you get it yet?" Mom asks. My eyes flicker to her. "Do you get why Stephanie left? Do you get what a poor job you've done as a mother to that child yet?"

My shoulders sag under the condemnation. My immediate reaction is to be defensive and to blame anyone and anything but myself. I hear the words in my head before I can speak them, and I realize how awful I sound. I sigh, shake my head to try to make sense of it all, and stand to clear the table.

 **Ranger POV**

"I never lose," Steph whispers in my ear, and the fierce playfulness of her voice is like a shot to my groin. I know Steph isn't ready for anything more right now, and I don't want to her to feel like I'm pushing her beyond her comfort zone. I agree with and respect that she needs to be in a better place emotionally before we take our relationship to the next level. I lift my Babe by the waist to relocate her to the desktop. I place my hands on either side of her while leaning forward to kiss her. I can feel the urge to deepen the kiss into something more grow, and I reluctantly pull back again.

"Babe," I say huskily, my eyes closed as our foreheads touch. Steph responds by wrapping her arms around my neck. " _Te quiero,"_ I murmur. I've never fully appreciated the power of a lover's embrace before. I feel our breaths synchronize as we melt together, and warmth spreads through my body. I am aware of every pore of my body, and at the same time, I begin to lose track of where I end, and she begins.

With a big breath, I separate us with a more chase kiss than the last and taking her hand, lead her to the kitchen. I put a pot of water on to boil before pulling out the eggs. Steph is sitting on a kitchen chair with a guarded expression. I move beside her, resting my elbows on the countertop to be at her eye level. "I see smoke, Babe," I say, hoping she'll open up to me.

Steph is looking down, and her fingers are snaking under the cuff of her long sleeved hoodie. I hear the edges of the bandage Bobby applied yesterday crinkle under her fingertips. I reach out and place her hand in mine. Steph sighs before saying meekly, "I'm uncomfortable in the kitchen. All the voices in my head begin to battle. I watch you move in here so confidently, and I feel inadequate. I see the food you are preparing, and while I know you guys are wonderful, my first reaction is tense anxiety over whatever guilt trip is likely to be lobbed my way. I see my body, and I think about last night, and I feel like an embarrassing failure. I've come far enough this week to understand the falsity of those words logically, but not all of the feelings have caught up with my mind. I place the highest possible trust in everyone in the house, but I still think any moment you'll all want to be done with me and my nonsense, and I wouldn't blame any of you."

My heart breaks again at how unloved Steph has been by both who should have loved her unconditionally. I use two fingers to slowly raise her chin until her blue eyes, clouded with uncertainty, meet mine. "Babe, I am proud of you. I never say those words carelessly. I am not a man easily surprised, and you've done that multiple times this week. I've been surprised by your strength, both physically and mentally. You are amazingly resilient and compassionate. You are a survivor who figured out a way to fight. It takes time for the body to catch up with the mind, and you are on the right path. I will never leave you, and I'll happily say those words as many times as it takes. You are many things, but inadequate, judged and found lacking, and failure will never make a list of your attributes in my mind. I love you, and it's going to be okay," I say seriously, making sure my blank face doesn't slide into place.

I observe Steph as she absorbs my words, her chin quivering as she nods her head yes. She turns in her chair and reaches out for me. I move my body in sync with hers as she buries her face in my chest. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be upset. I keep thinking I'll run out of tears, but then they show up again. I know you're right. I do. I just," Steph says softly. I can feel the tension in her shoulders as she fights to hold herself in check. I slowly rub a hand across her back.

I focus on one of the breathing techniques Dr. Anderson showed Steph, and I feel her mimic my quiet example. I observed this week that when I give Steph the time to resolve things on her own, she makes greater strides more confidently later. It's my job to be here for her. I planned on going over a routine and Bobby's meal plan after our snack, but perhaps I should adjust my timeline.

I feel Steph's readiness to pull away, and I kiss her head before taking a step back. I study her face as I do, and I'm immediately heartened by the spark of fire I see in my Babe's eyes. I fight a smile as I'm mesmerized by the determination I see in her set jaw and strong shoulders. I don't want her to think I would be laughing at her. As I mentally soak in the image of Steph before me, I realize that sometimes you don't notice something is missing until you find it again. The light in Stephanie's eyes is exactly that.

"Teach me," Steph declares. I raise an eyebrow in reply. "Teach me this," she repeats, sweeping a hand towards the stove. "I'm a capable, intelligent woman. If I can be a bounty hunter, surely I can handle eggs."

I give Steph my biggest smile, and I enjoy the flustered look I get in return. I especially appreciate the fleeting glance of desire that flashes over her before she bites her lower lip. "Yes, you can," I affirm, taking her hand and leading her around the island.

Steph's an attentive student and fast learner. I do not doubt that if she set her mind to it, her culinary skills will eventually surpass my own. I show her the house recipe book, an amalgamation of various Manoso and Santos family recipes as well as a few of Clara and Ella's favorites. I review where we store various things and a handful of commonly used kitchen gadgets. I watch Steph closely to see if I'm overwhelming her with information, but she is calmly soaking it in, asking questions, and taking mental notes.

Soon we are seated at the breakfast bar again with a cobb salad in front of us she mostly prepared herself. I honestly never thought I'd see the day when Stephanie willingly ate salad, but she's enthusiastically chowing down and chatting away. I use the moment to segue into a discussion about routine. Once again, Steph is all in. We agree to a 0800 wake up time for her, 0500 for me. We lay out work-out times, Rangeman training time, which I'll eventually expand into time on the gun range but I'm still hesitant to give her access to a weapon, snack and meal times, appointments with Dr. Anderson, and personal time. We agree to go to bed together at 2200. I expected some pushback from her on a schedule given her previous hold to independence, but Steph readily agreed to most of it, and as she did, I could see her visibly relax. It seems my Babe is discovering freedom in structure.

We stand and clean our dishes in comfortable communion. Finishing, Steph walks over and wraps her arms around my waist while tilting her head back to see my face, an easy smile on her face. "I love you, Carlos. Preparing and eating lunch together was good. Thank you. You're an excellent teacher," she says before standing on her tiptoes to softly kiss me. Steph and I have been lovers before, but we've never been intimate. The woman can turn me on like no other, but the slow burn of the nearness of physical touch and emotional vulnerability of the past week is the perfect kindling for the deepening love between us.

"I'm only as good as the student," I reply, initiating a kiss of my own. "I love you, too."

"Will you take me on a tour of the gardens?" Steph asks. "I've only seen parts of the backyard, but I think there's more to it than meets the eye." Her intuition is correct again.

"Of course, Babe," I reply, taking her hand. There are three access points in and out of the kitchen. One leads to the laundry room, utility room and coat room before the garage. The second one connects the kitchen to the dining room. The third is opposite the garage passageway and leads to the front foyer and main door. Exiting the main entrance, we step onto a long porch. The front yard is more garden than grass, with various palm trees and flowers. Surrounding the entire property is a solid cream colored and black iron wall. As we wander the front yard, I'm impressed to follow Steph's line of sight to nearly every camera and infrared sensor surrounding the home.

We step onto a stone path that leads to the back veranda, which is one of my favorite parts of the home. The trees here are a little bigger, and the plants a little closer to the path. It's shaded and feels like almost wild. Halfway through, Steph stops suddenly and squeals with joy. "You have a hammock!" she exclaims. "Ranger likes to go mocking!"

The hammock is strung between two palm trees and is nearly invisible in the densest part of my yard. It's a spot that is completely shaded and feels like an escape. I occasionally indulge myself with a nap or a book here. I look over at Steph as a smile threatens to materialize. "Babe," I respond, raising an eyebrow. She suddenly grabs my hand and pulls us towards the trees. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I settle onto the webbed net first before pulling Steph on top of me. Immediately, the fragrant smell of the garden fades away as Steph's femininity fills my senses.

"Carlos, this is perfect," Steph breathes onto my neck before twisting to initiate a kiss that quickly becomes something more. She rolls on top of me, and my arms wrap around her torso. I snake my hands under her shirt and trail my fingertips down her back. She responds instantly with a shiver and a moan, grinding her hips into mine. Steph laces her fingers through my hair and nuzzles her face in my neck before nipping at my earlobe sending shiver in return through me. This hammock is quickly becoming one of my favorite places.

I know we won't push our physical relationship past first base today, but it's a great place to be. Steph is trusting me and opening her heart to me. I've never felt this close to anyone. She peppers my lips with kisses before sliding her body down to rest her head on my shoulder. I kiss her curls and hold her close, our legs intertwined. Neither one of us says anything, but I can hear the love being poured out between us. Rocking in the light breeze, we both drift off to sleep in complete contentment.


	45. Chapter 45

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Hello, everyone! I have a new reason to say thank you – the last chapter had the highest single day readership to date. Wow! I'm honored to be 45 chapters in and still have your interest. I must say that I'm excited to be posting another chapter. I have to admit I have an addiction, and it's your reviews. I refresh my phone an obscene amount after a new chapter is posted, and I smile every time there is a new comment. You guys are awesome.

It's cold where I live, so I might not take my hat off this time but instead offer a mitten-clad high five to misty23y, my wonderful beta. I'm deeply appreciative of your time and encouragement.

* * *

 **Chapter 45**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 21 SEP 1300-1600

 **Stephanie POV**

As I drift back to consciousness, my senses take account of my surroundings as I remain still. My body rocks gently in the breeze, and I hear a creaking from the palm trees. A strand of hair fleetingly tickles my nose. I expect to smell the garden, but I can only distinguish the rich smells of Bulgari and Carlos. I take a second, deeper breath. I feel complete contentment at this moment. I wrap my free arm around Carlos' chest, attempting to be even closer to him than I already am.

As I breathe out again, I whisper, "I love you."

Carlos settles his arm on the outside of my own, squeezing it gently. _"Querida, te quiero,"_ he replies breathily, landing a kiss on my head. I love that he has started doing that. It feels so tender and safe, and I feel my heart swell with affection.

We both quietly awaken, and as we do, the schedule for the rest of the day begins to list itself in my brain. "Carlos, would it be alright if I used your credit card to do some online shopping? I will pay you back after my insurance check comes in," I ask.

Carlos continues to massage my arm with his fingers as he replies, "Of course, Babe. I'll write down the shipping and billing addresses to you. All packages are sent off-site, and one of us will pick them up. I have to double check, but I believe your insurance company is cutting the check today. Would you like a paper copy, or should I have it direct deposited to your account?"

My fingers dance above his navel. "That was fast. I can only assume you applied some pressure; thank you. Direct deposit, please, but I need to give you a different account number. I have only kept my account open at the Chambersburg Credit Union for appearance's sake. I don't trust that my money or my privacy is secure there. I opened an alternate account last year, and Hector helped me keep it electronically hidden from anyone curious enough to go digging for information about me," I report, divulging more about the precautions my paranoia demanded.

"I'm impressed. I had no idea," Carlos responds.

"Well, when your best computer geek and best researcher put their minds together…" I tease back.

"Babe," he replies with amusement, kissing my head again. "You're the only one who could call Hector a computer geek and live to tell the tale." I chuckle in reply.

When Carlos speaks again, his voice is more direct. "Don't worry about paying me back. We discussed this. I trust you."

I sigh and don't reply. I'm neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It's still hard for me to take without feeling like I'm giving in return, but I understand how Carlos feels. In any case, it isn't important right now.

"Babe, I have a question, but don't answer if you don't want to," Carlos begins, and I tilt my head back slightly to look at him, attempting to raise my eyebrow unsuccessfully. "Why did you choose to sleep in the closet last night?"

I look back down again and begin picking at a spare thread on the waistband of Carlos's pants. "I'm not sure how to answer that, and I'm not sure I can without hurting your feelings, which wouldn't be what I mean," I say honestly.

Carlos places his hand on my fidgeting one, and we interlace fingers. "I needed to be alone, I needed to process everything, and I wanted to be someplace that felt familiar. The only things I have left that are mine from before everything that's happened this week is hanging in your closet. I felt like that was the closest place to my old home I could conjure up, so I decided to cling to what I could. I chose the dark because I needed to let my brain focus only on thinking and sorting through my thoughts and emotions. I love you and all the guys, and I love your home. It is beginning to feel like my home, too, but right now, there is very little in this world that feels like mine," I bravely explain. "Besides, I didn't know about the hammock," I quip, turning my head back up with questioning eyes.

A smile tugs at the corners of Carlos' mouth. "Thank you for the explanation, Babe. I'm not offended at all, and it helps me to understand you better," he says warmly, and I let out a breath of relief. We slowly extract ourselves from the hammock, and I'm rather proud I didn't manage to flip us upside down in the process.

We walk hand in hand across the veranda and to the French doors leading to the master bedroom. I turn and wrap my arms around Carlos' neck, standing on my tip toes to kiss him. When I pull back, I look in his eyes and shyly bite my lip at the passion I see reflected at me. I step away saying, "Thank you for the perfect walk, Carlos," before stepping into the bedroom to retrieve my laptop and freshen up.

I spend the rest of the afternoon in the entertainment room, idly watching reality TV while online shopping. It isn't long before Bobby and Lester have joined me, snacks and smoothies in hand, and we all laugh at their mockery of my choice of programming. Just as another episode is about to start, Carlos walks in and stands behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I like the black one," he whispers in my ear, his eyes on the cocktail dress I had pulled up after seeing it on one of the girls on the show.

I shake my head no. It's an expensive designer dress, and I certainly don't need it. Looking up what people are wearing on TV is an old habit of mine, and I had no intention of adding it to my shopping cart. As I close my laptop, I lean up to kiss Carlos. "I'm sure you do," I deflect. "It is your favorite color after all."

He kisses me back before saying, "Time to go, Babe."

I stretch and stand, passing the remote to Bobby. "Alright, boys. Now, I expect a full accounting of who advances and who doesn't when I get back," I say with mock seriousness before laughing when Bobby and Lester begin to groan.

"Hey Carlos," I say, stopping in the entrance to the garage.

"Babe?" comes the quizzical reply.

"Would you mind if I drove my car today? I like driving, and I like my car, and…" Carlos cuts me off with a kiss, placing the keys in my hand. "Thank you," I softly reply. The trip is quiet, but for me, important. I feel like I am gaining control of my life back. I appreciate everything Carlos has done this week, and I would not have been able to manage on my own. However, driving myself to this appointment gives me a distinct sense of purpose. It feels more like my choice to go, and as silly as it seems, not because someone brought me there.

We settle into the waiting room, and I rest my head on Carlos' shoulder, my hand in his. "Unless you have something, I'd like to go alone today," I say quietly. Carlos squeezes my hand in gentle affirmation. Shortly I'm sitting in Dr. Anderson's office with a clearer head than I've had in months, probably years.

Once I begin talking today, the words pour out of me. I tell Dr. Anderson about my revelations in the closet. How scared I am deep down now that I fully realize how little power and control I had when I was molested, raped, and emotionally abused by my parents and that I'm still processing that raw emotion. How alone and betrayed I feel once I knew just how little love my family and friends have given me; the difficulty I have believing the guys won't tire of me and walk away like everyone else. I tell her that I am tired of pretending to be less physically capable than I am in order even somewhat to fit the Burg mold; how death has impacted my life, from my miscarriage to the pimp to Emily as well as so many deaths I've witnessed with my job, including Alpha, Ramirez, Scrog, Abruzzi and others; and how anxious I feel around food and why. I tell her about my astonishment and relief that Morelli is in jail and the touching apology left on my voicemail by my grandmother. My hands are fully engaged as I talk, my body opening up to help me express just how big all of these feelings are for me.

I take a deep breath before concluding, "When I stopped blaming myself, I know I allowed myself to begin to mourn the traumas of my past, and in doing so, I understand that I am beginning to heal. I'm not sure what healing or forgiveness looks like, but I know that I want to fly and be strong. I'm not sure how to turn off the voices of insecurity that tell me otherwise. My emotions feel all over the place." I look at Dr. Anderson expectantly.

"Stephanie, wow," she replies immediately. "I want you to pat yourself on the back. You have done incredible work this week, and it is all difficult and heavy stuff to deal with in such a short time. One week ago you were in a car driving south with no aim or direction other than escape. Since then, you have discovered a team of people who are committed to loving and helping you. You are working towards a healthier lifestyle and routine. You have actively worked towards justice against those who have sought to harm you. You are taking care of yourself and are learning all of those skills you mentioned to be earlier, namely self-care, forgiveness, trust, and love. You have so much to be proud of."

Wow is right. This last week was a doozy. I allow a small smile. "Ok," I say in a quieter voice. "I will try to remember to acknowledge the steps along the journey positively."

I bite my lower lip before continuing. "I would like your counsel on a couple of things specifically," I state. "Carlos and I have been intimate in the past, before this past week, although we've never officially dated before. He isn't pressuring me, and he tells me he will move at my pace physically, but, well, I'm not sure that's good enough. I'm not sure that there isn't an expectation of more, or that my hesitation isn't stupid. I know he loves me, and I love him. I know we are amazing together, but my heart feels bruised right now. I remember who I was in San Diego. I was a miserable person during those years. I used sex as a Band-Aid to cover up how much pain I was in after Morelli." I pause to take a deep breath as tears unexpectedly threaten to spill again.

"Nothing feels right to me right now other than I know Carlos loves me unconditionally. I don't want to mess this relationship up. On the one hand, I've recently had flashbacks when we've gotten too physical, and I'm somewhat afraid of sex right now, even though I know it's a ridiculous notion with him. On the other hand, I don't want to jump between the sheets with him and undo all of the mental and emotional work I've been doing by making sex my cure-all. I know deep down it will feel good, even if for a moment, and I'll seek out that feeling over how much I hurt right now. History will repeat itself, and I will destroy us in the end," I cry out, burying my head in my hands. "I'm not sure what to do," I finish plaintively.

"Stephanie, I think you do know what you want to do," Dr. Anderson says gently after a pause. "I hear you say you want to go slow, for a lot of reasons that are valid and important to you. There's no reason not to take your time developing that part of your relationship with Carlos, and we can work on processing your fears, which are very common and normal. Have you spoken with Carlos about this?"

I shrug. "Kind of, but not in as many words," I say half-heartedly.

"Please consider doing so. I think you'll find that communicating honestly with Carlos will alleviate many of your fears," Dr. Anderson says, and I can feel that in my gut she's right, but it isn't a conversation I'm looking forward to.

"Alright. I will try," I respond. "I have a second concern. I'm floored by my grandmother's voice mail, and I can't even imagine what has transpired back home to precipitate it. No one in my family has ever said they are proud of me. No one apologizes to me and means it. I'm rarely told that I'm loved, and I've certainly learned enough about myself this week to know that I'm not. I feel obligated to reply to it. I'm aware I need to speak with people back home, and that I can't keep hiding away forever. But I'm not sure what to say, and I know I'm not ready to have a follow-up conversation. I'm sure I don't want to hear what the gossip is and the reasons my grandmother came to the conclusions she did, even though she is correct. I'm certainly not going to risk calling my home and having my mother or sister answer the phone."

I press my lips together as I feel my anxiety begin to rise at even the idea of talking to my mother. "Breath, Stephanie, breath," Dr. Anderson soothes, as she starts to walk me through one of her exercises. In a minute my heart rate feels steadier and my mind a bit calmer.

Dr. Anderson restarts the conversation. "You are under no obligation to contact anyone. Your job right now is to take care of you. If you continue to feel as though you would like to reply to your grandmother's message, how would you feel about drafting a letter? We can go over it together, and if you feel comfortable, perhaps mail it to a third party who can deliver it to her," she counsels.

I nod my head in agreement before speaking. "Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Thanks," I say quietly.

"Stephanie, before our session ends, I want to give you another tool for your toolbox. There is a body of evidence to suggest those who practice saying affirmations strengthen the mind to challenge and overcome self-sabotaging and negative thoughts, among other things," Dr. Anderson says before pausing to stand and remove a stapled packet of papers from a filing cabinet and passing it to me. "This will give you more information on the practice and purpose of affirmations, how to develop your personal affirmations, which you can do as part of your journaling, and daily execution. I'll ask you on Monday how it's working for you and address any questions you may have," she continues.

We speak for a few more minutes, mostly wrapping up the session. I stand to leave, and as I do, Dr. Anderson advises, "Please be kind to yourself, Stephanie. You are doing great. I'll see you on Monday, but please do not hesitate to contact me between now and then."

"Thank you," I reply, looking forward to being with Carlos again. I'm grateful for Dr. Anderson's wisdom and counsel. Today's session was a significant appointment for me, but now I'm exhausted emotionally.

He stands when I enter the waiting room, and I give him a small smile I know he sees through. I see Carlos make brief eye contact behind me, and I hear the door close again, leaving us alone. We meet each other halfway, and I fall into his embrace, resting my left ear over his chest, my arms tucked up his sides, eyes closed. Just like that, I feel like I am complete again and my soul has a chance to rest. Carlos kisses my head in that sweet way as we hold hands to return to the car. I direct us to the passenger side, where I kiss Carlos lightly before settling into the seat. I know I'm too distracted mentally to drive right now, and I doze in the car with my hand resting on his muscular thigh as we return home again.


	46. Chapter 46

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Here's a quick update to kick off your weekend! I offer again many thanks for your warm words of encouragement and thought-provoking reviews; my writing improves because of them and my motivation soars. I thought I'd give you guys a small glimpse of where this story is going. We are wrapping up the first week of Steph's adventure. I have a few details I need to write through and then we are going to start doing some time jumps. I promise 1) a strong Steph and 2) an HEA. This first part of _Drive_ is emotionally brutal, but the entire story will not maintain this same tone, which I hope you are beginning to see lighten.

Each chapter owes thanks to misty23y, my stupendous beta. We all appreciate your excellent editing!

* * *

 **Chapter 46**

Date/Time Stamp: Friday, 21 SEP18 1600-2030

 **Stephanie POV**

I never entirely fall asleep on the ride home, and once we are parked, I quietly make my way into the house. I can feel Carlos' eyes following me. I know Dr. Anderson is right; I need to talk to him about sex to clear the air, but my brain is too busy making the molehill into a mountain for me to approach the topic. My fingers snake under the cuffs of my sleeves, my nails working their ways under the edges of the bandages as I wander to the porch. Lester is waiting as promised to begin our yoga session.

I notice a tray of healthy snacks and water left out on a side table, and I take a big drink of water hoping no one pressures me to eat at the moment. I remove my shoes and socks before standing at the top of my mat. Lester has a tablet set up with a video from a popular yoga instructor set to play. I look over at him, nod once, and we begin.

While there were many negatives regarding my time in San Diego, I embraced and enjoyed many parts of the SoCal lifestyle. Alicia and I often participated in sunset beach yoga with other college kids. It was a great way to unwind and connect with people. It's been years since I did a yoga routine, but my limbs seem to remember even if my brain doesn't. We work our way through several sun salutations, and as I move through the poses, I clear my mind, focusing only on my breathing and the repetitiveness of the motions. I appreciate yoga's ability to focus on specific areas of the body while simultaneously challenging the entire body. I can feel that I've lost some of my flexibility, and this will be a great way to help recondition my muscles.

As the session winds down an hour later, I can tell the video instructor is going to transition to savasana. While doing this with Lester for the past hour has helped refocus my mind, I'm still too wound up emotionally to lay down and commit myself to full relaxation. When Lester's eyes close, I silently roll, gather my shoes and socks and escape to the master bedroom veranda. I put on my footgear again before pacing, my fingers ever busy. I'm not sure why I feel so anxious, but my body seems to be crying out for movement.

I walk through the bedroom, stopping to get my iPod, and quietly stride through the house towards the gym. I'm relieved that everyone seems to be busy. I stop in front of Hector's room, knocking twice. He opens the door a moment later and queries, "Estefania?"

"Do you have time for the gym?" I ask. He holds up two fingers. "Thanks," I say, setting my lips into a line before entering the gym to set up the music and pull out our gear. Hector and I have an ever-evolving playlist where we challenge each other's music styles. Sometimes I add the most bubblegum pop songs I can find to piss him off, and he responds with retro Hispanic street rap. Today, however, it's going to be all rock, classic to modern, all loud. We are here to work.

I give Hector fifteen minutes to warm up as I complete a couple of drills on the bag. Yoga was helpful, but right now, this is better. "We need to get some mouth guards," I tell Hector as we face each other on the mats. He nods in agreement, the rules of engagement understood, bump gloves, and begin. Hector and I have been sparring for so long, we intrinsically know the others' strengths and weaknesses, and we also know how far we can push the other without seriously hurting them.

I attack like a bat out of hell. Hector raises an eyebrow at me after I scored several repetitive center of mass shots that left him in a defensive posture and pulling back. Sparring is what I needed. I hate feeling scared, and I hate the way I felt yesterday. I hate all of the emotional turmoil and the sudden ups and downs of my moods. I hate that so many people have used me as their fucking hypothetical punching bag in their shitty lives, and I take all of that energy and focus it on Hector. I'm not a great street fighter, but I am a pretty good boxer. Hector won't win this fight today, but he won't back down, and for that, I'm grateful. Hector gets a few good hits in on me. The pain motivates me to fight harder.

We are in the middle of a fourth round when the music is turned down. I drop my stance and turn to see Bobby standing by the water cooler holding out a cup to each of us. I sigh in resignation, pulling off my gloves. I glance at the clock, and I'm surprised to see it's nearly 6:30. I pick off the tape around my knuckles as I walk towards Bobby. My hands are slightly swollen, and I'm proud of the effort I put in.

I silently take the cup offered, retrieve my iPod, and exit the gym. I know I'm a bit anti-social, but I'm also not used to explaining the why behind everything I do all the time. It's one reason I like working out with Hector. We don't explain ourselves. I'm dripping with sweat, even more so since I still have my zip up on over my tank top. My new bandages are embarrassing, and I don't want everyone staring at my arms. I have to take a shower before dinner.

I continue my walk through to the master bathroom and turn the shower water onto hot before stepping out again to remove my soaking layers. I ignore the little voice that says I should find Carlos before taking this task on. I hate feeling this weak. I hate feeling dependent. I strip down to my panties and sports bra, staring at the large white bandages held in place with matching medical tape. I rip them off violently before stepping into the steaming stream, angry tears materializing that I work to tamp down.

My arms sting in the heat of the water, and I grit my teeth as I shampoo then condition my hair quickly. I grab the loofah and lather the soap. Everything inside me is urging me to wash away the anger, wash away the pain, wash away the uncertainty. It's wrong. I groan aloud in frustration, throwing the loofah across the shower as hard as I can. I take the soap instead and lather it in my hands, hoping a new approach will make the job easier.

I start with the essential bits and across my torso, my hands moving deftly. My nails graze my legs, and I tense at the familiar touch. I push my palms over my arms. I'm awash in many overwhelming sensations. I hate being in my skin sometimes. The self-inflicted physical abuse the surface of my arms has taken is something I seek to hide, but it is also something that, until today, brought me temporary relief. The pain inflicted is a pain I can control.

My nails are digging into my flesh as the thought passes through my brain. That's what this is about: control. I blamed myself, and so I hurt myself. But the way I physically hurt myself wasn't just in the shower. I dominated Hector tonight. I should have accepted more training and let my friends help transform my boxing skills into legitimate defensive and offensive fighting skills. I allowed myself to be hurt in in too many ways because it was a pain my subconscious sought to control after all the pain I couldn't control. By blaming myself, I also punished myself.

And now I have the power and the control to stop. I turn the water off and escape, realizing that I don't have to hurt anymore, that I don't have to feel the pain by myself. I finally realize that I'm am not alone on my journey, and I have three men here who will support me and help me along my journey to a pain-free life I am in the driver's seat for.

 **Ranger POV**

Steph is withdrawn after her appointment with Dr. Anderson today, and I chalk it up to fatigue. I'm emotionally tired after this week, and I'm only living her experiences vicariously. I stand in the passageway between the house and the veranda as Steph begins her yoga session with Lester. I'm mesmerized watching her transition between forms, and I stay there observing longer than I intended to. My thoughts slowly drift to the ways I can use Steph's flexibility to both of our advantages when we have sex again. I stiffen my shoulders as another part of me begins to stiffen, turning to walk to my office quickly.

Once at my desk, I distract myself by going through my work email. I wonder why Marcos sends me a report that the Miami network seems to be running slow, and I forward the note to Hector for review. I'm also getting impatient to see Rodriguez's report on the marriage bet against Stephanie. I pick up my phone and call Tank.

"Yo," he barks.

"Report," I bark back.

"Mooch was arrested today on conspiracy charges, among others. He cried like a baby when he realized he could end up a convicted felon and was all too ready to turn against Morelli. The State offered a plea bargain, and Mooch took it with a signed confession. The judge will sign off on it by Monday. He'll serve two years, eligible for parole after six months and owe $25,000 in restitution to Steph. I think the deal is too good, but it does put another nail in the coffin for Morelli," Tank states.

"Good. What's holding up Rodriguez's report?" I continue.

"I asked him the same question this morning. Rodriguez says he completed the report using traditional means last night, but that, and I quote, 'It doesn't feel right.' I trust him. He's our best researcher outside of Steph. He left the office today to do some groundwork. I'll follow up in a day or two," Tank replies. "How's Little Girl?"

"Getting better. Steph had a great morning, and she's doing yoga with Lester now. Steph is in better shape physically than she's let any of us realize. I think, once she sets her mind to it, she's going to do well training with Lester. Bobby and Lester will do her initial physical assessment Monday, but not the gun range. I took her weapon, and I'm going to wait until Dr. Anderson clears her to give it back," I say, being more open with Tank than I normally would. I learned in the Rangers that while I can capably shoulder the load of command alone, I am a better leader and a more stable person with a confidant.

"When did you take her weapon?" Tank responds.

"She pulled it on me in Daytona," I deadpan. There's silence.

"I'll be damned. Little Girl got the drop on you, and Hector took you to the mats. It's been a helluva week, Ranger," Tank says, and I can tell he's trying to keep from laughing despite the seriousness of the situation. I agree with him, not that I'll admit it.

I hang up with Tank and pull out Steph's phone to review her messages, sighing heavily at the home page. Stephanie gets too many god-forsaken voicemails. Doesn't the Burg ever take a hint? I think the volume of calls has increased in her absence. I remove my Glock out from the small of my back and clean it as I listen to the messages. As usual, most are complete gossip. Lula left two voicemails, rubbing it in Steph's face that she's Vinnie's new bounty hunter. I text Tank so he can keep an eye on our guys' backs should paths cross during apprehensions. Lula is irresponsible with a weapon and a liability to anyone nearby.

Tank didn't say much, but I know he was bitter following his and Lula's break-up. The fake engagement was reprehensible. I never saw what Steph and Tank did in her. My gut says she is a somebody who uses others for personal gain. She might not be on a street corner anymore, but Lula is still looking out for number one. Further, I despise that Steph always gave parts of her checks to Lula, often stretching her food and rent budget to the limit. Steph's generosity would be more warranted if Lula pulled her weight, but half the reason I kept a backup team on Steph so often was that Lula consistently placed her in greater danger by brandishing that ridiculous handgun or by abandoning Steph.

Rumors of Morelli's fake sex tape is a frequent topic of conversation by callers. I haven't told Steph about that yet, but I need to. More interestingly, there aren't any calls from Mrs. Plum today.

When I finish, it's nearly seven, and I curse the lost time. I secure my office and step into the hallway. I'm about to walk towards the master bedroom when I hear raised voices coming from the gym. I open the door to Bobby telling Hector off, who is shooting a look that would make me sleep with one eye open while Lester stands between them.

"What were you thinking, pushing the work out that hard? Bomber needs to recover," Bobby demands. I stop inside the door, crossing my arms and impatiently wait for Hector's reply. Where is my Babe?

"She came to me wanting a challenge. Estefania needed to get some energy out. She is fine," Hector spits out in Spanish.

"This was more than a challenge," Bobby angrily retorts in English. "I'm sure Steph bruised your ribs at a minimum. I saw Steph's hands. You took Ranger to the mats. For your sake, I hope you didn't attack her as you did him."

Hector visibly bristled, and I could feel the anger rolling off of him. "Estefania is a better boxer than Ranger and me. She wouldn't let me get in those kinds of hits. I would never hurt _mi Angelita_. I know her physical capabilities better than either of you," he says venomously, continuing to speak in Spanish.

I turn and exit the gym silently, knowing Lester can keep things under control. I'll finish that conversation with all three of them later. First, I have to find my Babe.

I rapidly move through the home and head straight towards the master bedroom. My concern is amplified when I see the rooms are empty but observe the recently used shower and bandages in the bin. I step onto the veranda and begin to do a sweep of the property. I pause in relief when I see Steph's silhouette, a darkened form against the bright lights of the skyline. She stepped down to the floating dock and is leaning against the retaining wall, her arms wrapped around her body.

"Babe," I say gently, wanting to alert her to my presence before I move to stand down beside her. She's wearing my sweatshirt again despite the warm evening. I place my hands lightly onto her shoulders to turn her towards me, my eyes continually assessing her. Steph's eyes meet mine, and a thousand emotions flash through them before she leans into me, her head on my chest. Steph continues to keep her arms wrapped around herself as I embrace her. She doesn't cry, but I can feel her drawing strength from me.

" _Querida,_ talk to me," I say, kissing her wet curls. "Are you okay?" Steph is silent for a few long seconds. I pull back slightly and place one finger under her chin to draw her reluctant gaze up to mine.

"I stopped," she says with quiet pride. "I figured out how to stop. That's what matters."

"What did you stop?" I say, my curiosity mingling with my underlying concern. "Did Hector hurt you?"

A look of confusion crosses Steph's face. "Hector never hurts me. I probably hurt him, and I need to apologize," she says, before sighing heavily and pulling away, her back to my front. I sense she is organizing her thoughts, and I wait for her to continue. "The session with Dr. Anderson today left me feeling anxious. Lester's yoga was good, but not enough to calm my mind. I found Hector, and we sparred in the gym. I know you guys aren't used to this side of me, but Hector and I have worked through a lot of crap on the mats. I needed the energy burn, and it helped."

I appreciate the value of a good work-out, but Steph hasn't answered my questions. "Do you want to talk about why you feel anxious?" I redirect.

"It's everything. Dr. Anderson and I recapped everything that's happened this week, checking in on how I feel about things overall. She says I need to pat myself on the back and be proud of myself. I hear her, but I don't feel it. There some other stuff, but we can talk about it later," Steph says quietly.

"Okay, _Querida_ ," I reply, kissing her head and wrapping my arms around her arms. As I do, she takes a quick intake of breath and winces slightly. "Babe, what did you mean when you said 'I stopped'?" I say cautiously.

Steph's shoulders sag, and she leans back against me heavily before pulling the sleeves up on her sweatshirt. I can see small patches of blood glistening in the moonlight, and she quickly secures the shirt again before re-wrapping her arms around her body. "It's not as bad as it looks," she says with a hint of defensiveness. "I wanted to feel strong and independent. I hate feeling inept, so I didn't ask for help when I should have. But, when my old ways started to take over, I stopped. For the first time, the abrasions brought me pain and not relief. I realized that when I let go of blaming myself, I am also allowing myself to feel and let go of the pain and fear. For me, that's a big part of being stronger. I want to train, develop self-defense skills, and become more capable physically. I want to learn to stand up for myself and develop new life skills. I am able. I held myself back, and I did it as misplaced atonement. I was wrong. The truth hit me hard in the shower today, and I stopped. This is a big moment for me, and I came down here to soak it in. Pat myself on the back, as the good Doctor says," Steph states, her voice gaining in strength and energy as she speaks. It's as though I can hear her coming back together.

I gently turn Steph so she can see me. I smile quirks at the corner of my mouth as I gaze into her blue eyes, enthralled with the flicker of fire I see. Steph may be bruised, but she is far from beaten. "I am proud of you and everything you have accomplished this week. Dr. Anderson is right. You're changing your life and your future, and that's a challenge. Choosing a harder work-out is a good way of dealing with things. Your success in the shower is a big deal. I know you, and when you set your mind to something, you are unstoppable. You have already begun learning to fight, both in here," I placing two fingers on her head, "and in here," I continue, moving my hand to rest over here heart. "I love you," I say with soft firmness. I kiss her forehead and pull her into a hug. We stand that way for a minute, and I feel her melt into me. It's a tenderness that warms my very core.

I kiss her head again before breaking away to step up onto the veranda before offering Steph my hand. "Let's eat, and when you want to talk about the other stuff, I'm all yours," I encourage.

We see the guys set the table when we enter through the living room, and everyone sits down to share the meal. I'm relieved to see the tension between Bobby and Hector has eased up, and the conversation flows smoothly. Steph is intuitive, and she would notice. My Babe does a great job of eating her meal, although she declines dessert. The extra PT tonight must have spurred her appetite.

I follow Bobby and Lester to the kitchen to help with the dishes while Steph remains behind with Hector. "Explain what happened in the gym," I state without preamble.

Bobby's jaw twitches before he begins. "I overacted. I'm not used to Bomber being this capable physically in the gym, and my mental baseline has her doing less than she can. With everything she's going through this week, my instinct is to protect her. When I walked in and saw them grappling on the floor, and knowing Steph is struggling with hydration and nutrition, my defensive instincts took over. Hector called me on it," Bobby says humbly. I value a man who can admit his faults, and it's a reason I trust Bobby so much.

"Ranger, Beautiful was unleashed tonight. I've never seen anything like it. I'm convinced I don't want to box her. I can't wait to begin training her in mixed martial arts. She's going to be a force," Lester enthusiastically chimes in.

"Bobby, I understand. I feel the same way. Lester, I reached the same conclusion when I boxed Hector. We have all underestimated Stephanie. However, next time, instead of gawking at Steph and Hector, come to find me," I finish in warning. I look at Lester, raising an eyebrow, and he turns to make himself scarce.

"I'm not angry with you, Bobby. I might have reacted the same way. It's hard for me not to want to swoop in and try to make everything better for Steph. As she heals and becomes stronger, however, we need to take a step back and let her challenge herself. I'm glad you're here," I say in a kinder tone. Bobby raises both eyebrows and looks astonished by my confession.

"Thanks, Ranger. I'm closer to you guys than to my own family, and I hate seeing Bomber hurt," Bobby says.

"I know. This week would be a lot harder without your help," I affirm. "I need you to ask to check and re-bandage Steph's arms discretely. I think she re-opened some of the wounds in the shower, but she's embarrassed," I continue more seriously.

"She showered without you? That must have been difficult for her. Based on my previous examinations, I know she's been hurting herself off and on for some time. It's in her best interest to have someone with and helping her. I assume Dr. Anderson is helping her with this issue?" Bobby queries with worry creasing his brow.

"Yes, and I'm going to follow up with Dr. Anderson again on Monday. I'm looking between what Steph has said and not said, but I think the stress of the week is catching up with her, which is why she sought out Hector. That said, she told me she was able to stop in the shower, and I think she had a breakthrough on the subject. I'm optimistic this won't be an issue much longer. I do think something is bothering her, and she's gathering the courage to bring it up. I know she's struggling with feeling dependent on us, especially since she's such an independent person at heart. We need to find ways to help her celebrate her accomplishments," I respond, grateful again that I can use Bobby as a discrete sounding board.

"Understood. I'm glad things are slowly turning around for Steph. I'm going to find Bomber now. When you see her, encourage her to drink more water," Bobby says before walking away. I finish up the dishes before seeking out Hector.

One of the pros and cons of a larger home is that there are more places to hide. I eventually find Hector in the utility room where I have the house's server stack. The only light in the room is from the glow of his laptop. While Hector put forth a relaxed appearance at dinner, I can see he's still pissed.

I start the conversation in his native tongue, "Brother, I want you to know I'm not angry. I understand you were helping Steph. I'm glad you two have the depth of respect and understanding between each other that you do." Hector's face immediately becomes less guarded.

" _Gracias_. Brother, you can't coddle Estefania. I hate that she has hidden her abilities away from the world and accepted pain and punishment instead. It's time for her to rise and be strong," he responds, also in Spanish. (Thanks)

" _Si,_ " I affirm. "It's good you're here." (Yes)

I exit to find Steph. It's been too long since our nap in the hammock, and I want to hold my Babe again. I see her with Bobby in the entertainment room, his medical bag on the floor beside him. Steph looks up and gives me a small smile.

"Just finishing up," Bobby reports. "Steph looks good overall. I used some stronger antibacterial ointment in a few areas to ward off infection, but she's healing well." I nod in acknowledgment and pull some waters out of the mini-fridge. Bobby stands to stow his gear as I walk over, and I take the seat he vacated.

"That's great, Babe," I say with a smile, wanting her to know I'm not judging her. I glance at my watch. "It's only 2045. What would you like to do with the rest of the evening?" I ask her, passing the water bottle.

Steph gives a wide grin. "How about we put that poker table to work?" she challenges, a gleam in her eye.

"Uh oh," Bobby chuckles. "I think we are about to be hustled."


	47. Chapter 47

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: This is a special shout out to my guest reviews. You guys have left some amazing messages the past few chapters. I'm touched and grateful for your support. Thank you!

This chapter was completely rewritten, so we say _gracias_ to misty23y for her double duty.

* * *

 **Chapter 47**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 22 SEP18 0300-1100

 **Stephanie POV**

I awake with a start, sweat beading on my forehead. I take several deep breaths to slow my heart rate before turning and squinting at the clock. 0312. Still, it means I slept five hours straight, which is impressive compared to the last several months. Before the past week, that would be more than I'd expect to get in a single night, total.

I turn my head to look at Carlos' sleeping form. He is laying on his back with one arm under my pillow to support my head. He doesn't stir from his deep sleep, and his masculine face has lost its hard edge in the soft relaxation of slumber. I remain still and attempt to pull back myself back into sleep, but when I close my eyes, the images of the dream play out again. My anxiety rises as the face of Joe Morelli stares back at me through my closed lids.

I channel my inner ninja and slowly extract myself from the bed and tiptoe to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. I've developed a few insomnia habits, and one of them is a hot drink. The other is to move around and spent some time on a mental task. The more I lay there trying to forget the dreams, the more they stick around. Distraction is the fastest way back to slumber, and if I don't get back to sleep, at least I was productive with my time.

I set the kettle on to boil and smile as I recall the past evening's antics. I was worried there was tension between Bobby and Hector due to my decision to aggressively work-out yesterday evening. The poker game was what everyone needed to relax. As the cards flew and we passed the chips, we made a wager that the overall winner wouldn't do dishes for the next week. I came close, but Lester's full house gave him the edge on the last hand. It's amusing watching three Army-hardened men and one street-hardened man play poker. They all try to out-do each other with the blank faces and shit-talk. I, on the other hand, know that I have no poker face and therefore attempt to make every hand look as though it is the best hand ever and deflect with my womanly charms and banter. At a minimum, I'm distracting enough to get them to drop their inscrutable front for a second at a time, so I generally know when to up the ante and when to fold. Poker night will need to become a new tradition.

I pick up my now steaming mug of tea and begin to wander. I'm about to head towards the living room when an open door near the garage catches my attention. I poke my head in and hear the familiar sound of humming servers. Hector is awash in blue light with his back turned to me, sitting in a metal folding chair with his laptop hooked into the server rack.

I place my hand on his shoulder, and without turning, he says, "Estefania, sit." I take the chair beside him, repositioning it so I can see the screen. We sit in silence as I watch him work.

"DDoS attack?" I ask after some time.

" _Si,_ " Hector confirms. "It happens all the time. Tracing the IP addresses and making sure the network is up to date."

I watch Hector run prompts through the command screen, amazed at the intelligence and talent of this man. With little money and only a rudimentary understanding of English, he dedicated himself to understanding computers and networks as a stepping stone to bettering his life. An hour passes with me asking questions as best as I can in Spanish and him attempting to answer in English. I begin to do a sleepy head bob, and we both rise to catch a couple more hours of sleep before the day officially begins.

I slip between the sheets around 4:30, and Carlos instantly rolls towards me. I nestle my head in the soft spot of his shoulder, place my bent knee on his thigh, and rest my hand on his bare chest. "Babe," he mumbles into my hair, still mostly asleep. Everything about being near this man is right, and I drift off to sleep again.

 **Ranger POV**

I feel Steph smoothly slide into bed, and I realize I hadn't woken when she left. She reassures me her sleep is much better over this past week than it was, but that isn't saying much. Her body and brain need better sleep to heal. I hold my Babe tightly as she drifts back into a pensive slumber, never letting go, maintaining physical contact for her sake as much as my own. My bed only feels complete with her in it.

I love watching Steph sleep, and one reason is her expressiveness carries over into her unconsciousness. This morning I see her face transform from anxiety to relief but she never fully relaxes. I move my thoughts to yesterday. Steph's idea to play poker was spot on, the perfect end to a difficult day. I enjoyed seeing her laugh and joke as we played yesterday. Everyone needed to blow off some steam, and we'll have to do it again, especially since Lester will undoubtedly be insufferable over his win.

I want to do something to make this feel more like Steph's home, and I want to do something to show her how much I love her. It bothers me that she feels as those she's lost so much that the only place that's hers is the bottom of the closet. I'm not sure how much she ordered online yesterday, but knowing her, I'm guessing it wasn't much. She only has a handful of outfits now, mostly workout tights and tops, even after the last trip to the mall. She's the only woman I've ever met who doesn't want more of my money, and it's frustrating. I wish I could buy her the world, but I know she'd be upset if I did.

I know something is troubling Steph, and I'm concerned she is closing herself off again. She has a reticence about her that didn't exist before her appointment with Dr. Anderson. I feel like it's something she is hesitant to talk to me about, but I can't figure out what it might be. I'm proud of Steph for conquering some of her demons in the shower yesterday. It's a huge victory for her to feel stronger and more independent.

I shut off my alarm a few minutes before it is supposed to go off, and I decide to spend the next couple hours dozing with Steph in my arms. Eventually, I feel her muscles re-engage, and I watch as she blinks herself awake. Her beautiful blue eyes meet mine, and she smiles with closed lips. She snuggles in closer, and I lift my head to kiss her bedhead curls. When I move my head back to rest on my pillow, she tilts her face towards mine and shimmies up to give me a quick kiss on the lips before resting her head on her hand, her body facing me. I trail a couple of fingers down her side before resting my hand on her hips, returning a matching smile.

"I love you," I say, wanting to start the day anew on a positive note. She rewards me with a full smile that makes her eyes sparkle.

"I love you, too, Carlos," she says, her voice husky from sleep. "Shall we get some breakfast? You'll be happy to hear that I'm hungry!"

"Babe," I reply, already pulling the covers back and sliding out of bed. I move quickly to her side and embrace her in a quick hug again, kissing her chastely. "That is great to hear."

I'm ready before her, and I walk to the kitchen, start the coffee, and begin pulling out ingredients for omelets. I'm chopping a green bell pepper when I feel Steph wrap her arms around my middle and rest her head on my back. It sends a rapid warmth through me. I love when Steph touches me, especially of her initiative. "Can I help you?" she asks tentatively.

I set the knife down and pull her in front of me. "Always, Babe," I say into her ear, and I smile at the shiver I feel course through her body. I move my hands down her arms until my hands are over hers. I place the knife in her hand, showing her the correct way to hold it. "This is how you dice," I quietly instruct, using my hands with hers to demonstrate the technique. I tilt my head to the side to observe Steph's face as she works. Her face is slightly flushed, and she's biting her lip in determination and concentration. She's gorgeous. After I moment, I reluctantly leave her to the task while I doctor Steph's coffee to her preference and set it next to the cutting board.

"Mmmm…" she inhales in appreciation. "Thank you."

" _De nada_ ," I reply, whisking the eggs. (You're welcome.)

Soon, we're seated side by side at the breakfast bar with our steaming omelets and whole grain toast. I'm pleased when Steph scoots her stool closer so that our legs are touching as we dine. It seems she's craving the extra contact today, and I'm glad she is reaching out to me on some level.

Steph startles, dropping her fork on her plate, when Lester walks in, his big mouth running. "Good morning, lovebirds. Glad you could pry yourselves out from the bed to join us," he teases, his eyebrows waggling. I shoot him a glare and rest my hand reassuringly on Steph's thigh, but I relax when I see Steph shake her head and roll her eyes at him.

"Lester," Steph says as she stands, taking our plates to the sink. "I was wondering if we could do another yoga session this morning."

"You got it, Beautiful. Say the time, and I'll be there," Lester replies as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

Steph turns to look at me. "When were you planning on working out?" she asks, and I'm pleased that she is actively working to manage the daily routine we negotiated yesterday.

"I'm going to head to my office to review my inbox and check in with Tank when we finish breakfast. I'll work out after that," I state, waiting for her reaction.

Steph shrugs. "Okay, Lester. I'm going to finish this coffee and let my food settle. Let's meet on the veranda in about 45 minutes."

Lester nods in reply before heading out again. I join Steph at the sink and help load the dishwasher. As I'm drying my hands as the task is complete, I'm filled with another burst of affection as Steph embraces me again, more fiercely this time. "I love you, and I'm thankful for you," she mumbles into my shirt.

I rub my hands up and down her back as I kiss her head before tucking it under my chin. " _Querida, te quiero._ I love you, too," I reply. I wait for her to initiate our separation, but when she does, she continues to hold my hand while grabbing her coffee cup with the other. We walk silently to my office, and I pull her onto my lap while I begin to log into my computer.

Steph rests her head on my shoulder and is unusually still. I am again left with the feeling that something is bothering her, and that she is drawing strength from my presence in the interim. I'm a very patient man, and I will wait for her to be ready to talk, but I do intend to keep a closer eye on her in the meantime. Steph watches me sift through my e-mail a moment before giving me a passing kiss on the cheek as she stands to leave. "Have fun with yoga, Babe. I love you," I say, flashing a smile.

"Thanks, I will. I'm going to enjoy having Lester as my work-out buddy. I love you, back," she replies as she vacates the room. I watch her leave before pulling her phone out of my top drawer. I'm a bit shocked there are only a few messages today and none from any of her family members.

I turn the phone over in my hands as I ruminate on that. Steph's father hasn't left a single message since she departed the Burg. I've never heard him say much, but if I heard Julie suddenly left town and disappeared for a week, I would be calling or trying to find her, and no one is going to be sending me a father of the year award. In all of the things Steph has revealed to me this week, Frank hasn't come up once. I can think of two likely possibilities. The first is that he is just as beaten down by the Burg and Ellen Plum as Steph is and has checked out of what is going on around him that he is a complete non-factor in Steph's life. The second, more troubling option, is that he is a more significant part of the problems going on in Steph's life than I first considered.

Mrs. Plum's sudden silence is also concerning. That woman hasn't stopped attempting to control Steph's life since the day she was born. Something happened to shut her up, and I want to know what it is. I don't trust that woman as far as I can throw her, which admittedly, is more than most people could throw a person.

A new email alert pops up as Tank calls. "Yo," I state, opening up the message.

"Rodriguez finalized the research report on the marriage bet against Little Girl," Tank reports without preamble. "You aren't going to like it."

I feel my jaw tighten as I begin to read the attachment. Tank summarizing as I look through the information. "The marriage bet began as a joke between Morelli and a dozen or so people in his high school circle. After he wrote those messages all over town after the Tasty Pastry incident, Morelli got a lot of attention. It seems some people weren't happy he did that, and to justify his behavior, Morelli initiated the bet. The impression Rodriguez got from interviews is the old-fashioned notion that it's ok if a man takes a girl's virginity as long as he marries her eventually. In other words, the people who bet that Morelli would marry Steph believed he would do the 'right thing' by her and those that bet against Steph believed she was a slut who wasn't good enough for Morelli."

I work hard to control my growing rage. If it weren't for the family Lester and I have in the area, I'd be content to close the Rangeman Trenton office and never look back. What a dangerously backward group of people.

Tank continues after a break himself where I assume he is working to keep himself composed. "Rodriguez was bothered by the fact that Morelli had a betting book for the Precinct wagers and a sexual exploits log but that we didn't have anything on paper for the marriage bet. He visited Morelli's house after his arrest and went through it with a fine-toothed comb. He found the book in a hidden panel underneath the belly of the pool table yesterday afternoon.

"The first part of the book lists the agreed to terms and conditions of the bet. Morelli has to marry Steph, and they must remain married for at least one year. If Steph or Morelli marry someone else, that marriage must last at least one year. If divorce happens before the one-year mark, the nay-sayers win the bet. If Little Girl and Morelli don't marry by the time Steph is 40, the nay-sayers win the bet.

"Minimum bets are $100, and the largest recorded bet is $5,000. Bets could be added or changed over time. The pay-out is the be in proportion to the amount put into the pot. It didn't take long for this bet to hit Burg gossip channels and the wagers started pouring in. The register has 1,153 people with recorded wagers. Morelli recorded a savings account number for the Chambersburg Credit Union in the book. Rodriguez took out a teller from the CCU out for drinks late last night, and he wined and dined her into telling him about the account. The money is in a high-interest account; the current balance is $1,486,764.98. There was a $40,000 interest withdrawal by Morelli in the past couple of years, so I guess we know how he paid for his pool table and hotel rooms for his mistresses now," Tank finishes with caustic sarcasm.

"The interest withdrawal also explains why he let the bet go on as long as it has without putting more pressure on Steph to walk down the aisle. He could skim money out of the account, assuming no one would be none the wiser while still being mostly single. With Steph turning 36 this year, he must have started to realize time was ticking, which is probably why he started to become more aggressive towards her," I muse, deliberately keeping my emotions detached to focus on the information at hand.

"The list of people involved in the bet is going to be tough on Little Girl," Tank replies. "The people who stood to gain the most from Steph marrying Morelli were Morelli, of course, Mooch, which must be why he helped him, Big Dog, Albert Kloughn, and Frank Plum. The people who would receive the highest payout if Steph didn't marry Morelli were Joyce Barnhardt, Carl Costanza, Morelli's Grandma Bella, and Valerie Plum. It seems her sister and brother in law are playing both sides so they are assured easy money at Stephanie's expense. The sheer number of people involved in this thing, however, is staggering."

I roll my shoulders to release some of the tension I feel at controlling my inner beast as I read this report. I skim the list of names involved, and I'm relieved not to see Mary Lou, Eddie, and Mrs. Mazur's names listed. I'm surprised I don't see Ellen Plum or Angie Morelli in the log. That doesn't, however, necessarily mean that the mothers didn't know about it. People paced bets as recently as this past year, wagers often increased over time, and a few people changed their bets. Lula and Connie both bet against Steph marrying Morelli, and Vinnie bet in favor.

"How much did Frank Plum bet?" I ask tensely, scrolling through the pages to attempt to find his name.

"$5,000. Same as Morelli. More people bet in favor of Little Girl marrying Morelli than not, so without getting too far into the math, their payouts would be at least $100,000 each. Most bets were in the $250 range, and those people would receive around $1,000 each," Tank responds quickly, but I can hear the anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Fuck!" I snap, pounding my fist into my desk as I feel my self-control ebbing away.

"I know, Ranger. Take a break from the report, and we'll decide how to respond later," Tank says with a note of warning. "What's Lester doing?" I take a deep breath. He's right. I can't lose it around Steph right now.

"Yoga with Steph. We'll finish this later," I state before hanging up. I lock out my computer and stride to the gym. Bobby slips in behind me, a worried look on his face. Tank must have contacted him when I hung up. I'd ordinarily be annoyed at the micro-management, but I know he has Steph's best interest at heart. We both know I can't unleash my beast right now.

"Rodriguez finished the marriage bet investigation," I tell him in a voice that is eerily calm to even myself. "Frank Plum stood to gain at least $100,000 if Steph married Morelli." Bobby's eyes got wide as he took in a sharp breath of air.

"Goddamn it," he says quietly, shaking his head. "Bomber got a shit deal when it came to parents." He takes off his shirt and meets me on the mats.


	48. Chapter 48

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Your reviews and feedback from chapter 47 have blown me away. Thank you, everyone! I'm thrilled with your enthusiasm and feedback.

A chapter can't go by where we don't give special appreciation to misty23y for her work as both my sounding board and beta. Thanks, Babe!

* * *

 **Chapter 48**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 22 SEP18 0900-1300

 **Morelli POV**

"Morelli, you have a visitor," the Corrections Officer whose name I haven't bothered to learn yet calls out. I move forward in the cell, and he opens the door to escort me. Since being charged two nights ago, I was processed into the New Jersey State Prison conveniently located in Trenton. It is the only complete maximum security prison in the state, and I'm insulted to be housed next to the worst and most dangerous offenders New Jersey has to offer. I'm not a fucking murderer. Hell, I didn't even do anything wrong. I've put several of my new cellmates into this hellhole, and I'm pissed off those spics from the holding cell at TPD were transferred over with me.

I was threatened with solitary last night after I nearly got into a fight with the greasy, long-haired asshole with the tattoo sleeves, most of them representing gang affiliation bullshit. He fucking grabbed my cock out of nowhere, hard, and whispered in my ear, "Hector sends his regards," before tonguing my eardrum. And the fucking Corrections Officer acted like I was the trouble-maker. I can tell sleep is going to be an issue until I make some allies in this place. I need my mom to contact me so I can make bail.

Well, ask, and ye shall receive. Looks like good ole Angie Morelli has come to spring her baby boy from jail. I put on my most innocent and aggrieved face as I sit in the chair and pick up the phone. "Hello, Mom. Thank you for coming. I'm sorry you have to see me like this," I say, using my best Burg mannerisms.

"Hello, Joseph. I'm sorry to see you like this as well," she replies, and I'm instantly on the alert at the resigned yet determined look on her face. "I'm sorry to see you've decided to follow in the footsteps of your father."

Oh fuck. The conversation is not going the way I want it to progress. I need to do some quick damage control. I've always been able to sweet talk my mother. Now shouldn't be any different. "Oh, no, Mom. I didn't do anything. I've been set up by Ranger, that thug Stephanie works with from time to time. He's jealous of my relationship with her. I have to get out of here to prove my innocence and save her. Stephanie is missing, and I know he has her. Please help us, Mom. I love her," I say, placing my hand on the glass separating us.

"That isn't going to work on me anymore, Joseph. I was in the courtroom when your charges were read. You didn't see me, but I finally saw you. I also spoke with several of your former colleagues down at the station, and they confirmed several of the rumors flying around town about you. I know about all the women with whom you've been stepping out on Stephanie. I know about the betting you orchestrated against her at the police station. I know about the sex tape you were filming with that, that Mob whore, that slut, Terry Gillman when your former colleagues arrested you. It makes me sick to think of all the ways you manipulated and used Stephanie, poor girl," my Mom says with a sternness I've never heard from her, and I'm stunned into silence. I can't remember the last time things went so poorly for me. I need to think fast, but my mind is blank.

"I've failed you as a mother, and I came today to offer my apology. It wasn't until yesterday that I figured out that when I never defended myself from your father, you suffered, too, and that you learned the lessons of his abuse better than I realized. Joseph, real men, do not hurt, physically or emotionally, women or children. I always thought that if I buffered you, my innocent children, from your father's abuse and took it all unto myself, I was protecting you. I realized in that courtroom yesterday that instead, you became the very person I thought I was suffering to prevent from materializing. The Morelli legacy of abuse and womanizing stops now.

"I came here today to say how sorry I am and to start being the mother I should have been all along. To your detriment, I have justified and defended your actions for a long time. Neither I nor anyone in the family will be bailing you out. Your cousin Mooch reached a plea deal and will be serving two years upstate for his participation in your actions. Joseph, it's time for you to face the consequences of your actions and learn from them before it's too late. How much time you serve in here is up to you and your willingness to confess, learn from your past, and be willing to change your future. I love you, son. Be a better man," my mom pleads, tears falling freely down her face. She hangs up the phone and walks away before I can reply.

 _Fuck._ Why me?

 **Stephanie POV**

Lester and I are rolling up our mats at the conclusion of savasana. "I'm glad you stuck around this time, Beautiful," Lester says, and I look up at the seriousness of his tone. When our eyes meet, he continues, "I am here to train you and to be your Rangeman partner, but first and foremost, I'm your friend. If something we are doing isn't working or you want to mix it up, I need you to tell me."

I stand completely still as I absorb his gentle admonishment. Lester is right. I shouldn't have snuck away yesterday. I look down again, fingering the edge of the mat. "I'm sorry. It's good you said something. I should have asked you to join me in the gym or told you what I was up to, and I'll do a better job of communicating in the future," I said remorsefully. It's not just Lester I've been avoiding talking to these last eighteen hours. I also need to speak to Carlos, write the letter to my grandma, and I've been remiss on my journaling and developing my words of affirmation. I know I'm reverting to my old habits of tucking the difficult stuff away under the guise of independence. That notion of freedom puts me in a prison of pain and misery. I have to trust, communicate, and put in the work of self-care to gain the strength I need to fly.

Lester places his hands on my shoulders, and I can tell he's restraining himself from giving me his typical bear hug. "It's okay. We're good, Beautiful, and I understand. As you keep working through things, your moods and needs are going to change. I'm here to help, and mixing your PT up is an easy way to adapt and make things better for you. After seeing you box, which was one of best shocks I've ever experienced, by the way, I'm excited to start training you in mixed martial arts," he says, his tone more compassionate yet light-hearted. I look up and give him a small smile in reply.

"Thanks, Lester," I say, initiating a short hug. "I'm going to take a break in my room now. I need to spend some time with my journal."

Lester looks down at me appraisingly as I take a step away. "Alright. I'm here to listen, too, should there be something you want to talk about," he says.

"I know," I reply automatically but not moving. "I know I'm changing and working through stuff, and I'm grateful you're here. I believe it when you guys say I'll heal and be stronger and all that stuff, but do you think I'll ever be the same person you liked in the first place again?" I say before I have a chance to stop myself.

Lester moves his hands so that they are lightly gripping my biceps. "No, Beautiful, I don't. I think you'll be better," he says earnestly. I shift my eyes to look back at him, surprise registering on my face. I'm not sure I can reply right now without bursting into tears, which is something I don't want to do, so I purse my lips together, nod my head yes several times and walk towards the master bedroom patio.

After I freshen up, pour myself a glass of water and grab my laptop, I walk back out to the porch. I sit down at the small table, not wanting to be so comfortable I fall asleep instead of working. I start by journaling my reflections and musings since yesterday, and I can feel some of the anxiety leave me as the words form on the screen. From there it's a smooth transition to write a letter to my grandma. I'm willing to let that first draft sit a day before I revise it. After that, I begin my words of affirmation.

I review the handout Dr. Anderson gave me. The first step is to make a list of my negative self-talk and beliefs. I sigh to myself as I begin the type — the words _inept, unworthy, failure,_ and _unlovable_ leap onto the screen. Not wanting to continue listing my numerous flaws, I jump ahead to the next step. Turn those concepts into affirmations. In other words, make the negative a positive. I stare at the page, my fingers still. That is a much harder step. I sit for nearly ten minutes before writing,

 _I am an intelligent, capable, and beautiful woman, inside and out, who gives love freely and is worthy of accepting love in return. I can fly._

Deep down, I don't feel that these words are correct, but I suppose, as I read the third step, that is the purpose of the exercise. I'm to repeat these words to myself three times a day for five minutes at a time. I'm supposed to learn to believe them. Well, it doesn't hurt to try. I feel silly, but I place my hand over my heart and repeat the statement. Surprisingly, I feel lighter by the end.

I put away my laptop and walk into the bedroom as a freshly showered Carlos walks out of the bathroom, his hair still wet from the shower. The smell of Bulgari moves ahead of him, and my stomach has butterflies as I shyly observe the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on amble towards me. I set the computer on the bed and allow Carlos to pull me into a strong embrace. The hug is longer than I expected, and I feel as though Carlos is attempting to transfer his love through his body and into mine physically. It's both comforting and disquieting. He kisses my head as we break away, and the increasingly routine action sends a bolt of intimacy through me.

"Have you had lunch, Babe?" he asks. I shake my head no, and he takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen. I glance at the stove clock, surprised to see it's 11:30 already. I look in the fridge and see a container of the leftover black bean soup in the back.

"Do you want some?" I ask as I pop it in the microwave.

"No, you take it. That's not enough for more than one person, anyway. Can I make you a salad or sandwich to go with it?" Carlos replies as he takes some lettuce out of the fridge.

"No, thank you," I respond. I can't shake the sense I got from Carlos' hug that he has something to tell me but doesn't want to. That coupled with _the talk_ I keep talking myself both into and out of, I'm not sure I can even eat the bowl of soup.

I settle onto my stool with the soup and watch Carlos make a sandwich and a side salad. He moves with quiet assuredness, and I notice the little things he does to make my old idea of rabbit food tastier. He uses a dash of spice on the turkey before spreading whole-grain mustard instead of mayo to wet the bread, adding a few pickles to the tomatoes and lettuce. None of it looks particularly difficult or time-consuming. Perhaps another way to expand my kitchen repertoire is by knowing the value and purpose of the ingredients rather than working towards unrealistic ambitions of exceptional skill and technique.

We eat in quiet company, each of us lost in our thoughts. I want to give up on the soup, but I remember my promise to do better, and I persist despite my increasing anxiety over the conversation I know is looming. "I need to talk to you," I blurt out, putting my spoon down after the last bite.

Carlos turns towards me, and eyebrow slightly raised. "Babe?"

I stand and silently clear the dishes. As I load the dishwasher, I can feel Carlos' eyes following me. Me and my mouth sometimes, but I remember Lester's words after yoga, and I cling to my impulsive resolve. Carlos joins me, placing his plate in the sink. He reaches over and gently removes the sponge from my hands before turning me towards him. "What do you want to talk about, Babe?"

I don't want to have a conversation of this magnitude in the kitchen. I turn and, with Carlos' hand still in mine, lead us to the floating dock I discovered yesterday. I should have finished this conversation with him there and not let it fester so long. I think about leading us to the blissful hammock, but I'm too keyed up for that. I need to fidget, and I'm pretty sure I'd wiggle us into being flipped onto the ground.

Carlos unquestioningly follows me but jumps down to the wooden structure first before offering me his hand. I sit with my knees bent after I pulled up my leggings with my feet half in the water before wrapping my arms tightly around my legs. Carlos sits beside me; his body turned slightly towards my own. With his seemingly endless patience and self-control, I know he'll wait as long as it takes for me to begin talking. There's no getting out if it now, not that I want to.

I'm struggling to find the words to start. I don't want Carlos to think that I'm rejecting him, but if I say what's on my mind, he just might. Carlos grazes his thumb along my arm, and it sends a shiver through my body. Instead of being comforted as I usually would be, my heart begins to race as the sensation mingles with my thoughts and fears. The reality is that I love this man, I want this man, and I am terrified to go too far with this man.

I bury my face in the space between my knees. In my heightened state, the images of my dream last night flood behind my closed eyes. Joe Morelli is back, taunting me about how my inhibitions keep me from satisfying him in bed as he threatens to have his way with me someday to show me how wrong I've been. If I loved him, I would give him what he wanted. I begin to tremble as I recall the coldness of his voice, and I remember his hands roughly moving down my body to grip my ass, spreading my cheeks intimately. I had ten little bruises the next day.

I jump as Carlos moves behind me and wraps his arms gently over mine. "Shhh, Babe. You're safe," he quietly soothes. "Breathe with me."

I hadn't noticed how shallow and rapid my breaths had become before his command. I will work through this, but I feel immense relief knowing I don't have to do it alone. I don't lift my head but nod yes and press my back against his chest, trying to focus on his breathing to slow my own. I train my senses on his presence to chase away the ghosts of my mind. I listen intently to the cadence of his soothing, much of it in Spanish, to chase away the negative thoughts.

I actively work to shove aside my self-doubt, and I follow his instructions. I am determined not to lose myself to the threatening panic. I breathe with him, counting the seconds in and the seconds out. I remember Dr. Anderson's instructions on meditative breathing, and I visualize the air entering my body, filling my lungs and belly and feel it leaving slowly until I imagine myself empty. Soon, my trembling quiets, and the tension lessens as I relax my shoulders and back.

" _Querida, te quiero,"_ Carlos soothes quietly before kissing my head. "Are you feeling a little better? You did a great job calming down. I'm proud of you."

I let out one last large breath and turn my head to the side, continuing to rest it on my knees. "I'm sorry. I know you don't want to hear it, but I am. I feel like I'm fucking everything up," I say, hating that I'm making this conversation harder than it has to be by being unable to control my emotions.

Carlos moves two fingers under my chin and gently pulls my gaze up to his. I match my eyes to his reluctantly, my chin quivering again. His looks at me thoughtfully, his eyes searching for answers to unspoken questions. "What has you feeling this way? I know something has been bothering you since yesterday. Are you ready to talk about it?" he says with concern, his eyebrows slightly scrunched together.

I break eye contact as I lean forward to rest my chin on the dip between my knees, staring steadfastly at the Miami skyline, my arms firmly grasped around myself as I gather my courage. He places his hands on my shoulders and gently massages my arms and back. I inhale the rich smell of this man, a sexy, earthy blend that draws my very soul to him. I can't imagine my life without Carlos in it.

"I'm scared of losing you," I blurt out in a whisper, tears flooding my eyes as the words take shape.

"Babe?" he questions, his hands pausing in their ministrations, and I hear the confusion.

"I don't know how to say this, so please bear with me. I'm scared of being intimate, but it isn't you, and I'm terrified that you are going to be so frustrated with me and all the conflicting signals I send that you'll throw your hands up and walk away. I know the first thing you are going to say is 'No, Babe, I would never,' but you have to realize that it's happened to me already, more than once. I know that you aren't pressuring me now, but we have an undeniable spark between us that you are going to want to act on, especially since we have before. You're doing so much for me that you have every reason to have certain expectations from me. Don't say anything yet," I stumble out, needing to collect myself again. I want Carlos to understand, and to continue; I have to slow my pounding heart.

I take a deep breath, and as I do, Carlos moves a hand over one of my tightly gripped ones. I let him take it, and hold onto his with white-knuckled desperation. "I am afraid to have sex right now for several reasons, and all of the scenarios in my head end with me destroying this relationship. You didn't know me in college, but some of my exploits could put Lester to shame. Simply put, sex feels good, and I used that pleasure to avoid dealing with how much pain I was in since that day Morelli raped me. Sex with you is the very best pleasure, and I'm afraid I'll use you as a distraction to avoid continuing to work through my demons. I know I have to face my past to have a future with you.

"Since college, I've only been with three men, including you. It's true that you ruined me for all other men, but even still, we've never made love. We have only ever fucked, and I can say the same is true with Dickie and Joe. To be clear, that's where the similarities end, which is one of many reasons why I'm with you now," I say, my voice having an edge of begging for his understanding. I'm sure I'm saying this all wrong.

"I don't talk much about my nightmares or my past, but maybe I need to try," I continue with a more detached tone, but my fingers gripping Carlos' fingers even tighter. "I have two types of dreams. One type has an ethereal quality. It's an imaginative take on people, situations, and what things could be. It's where I envision my death, find a way to fly, or am being consumed by voices with messages of condemnation or my fears. The second type is a reliving of my worst experiences in vivid detail. They are so realistic that I can't tell it was a dream when I first wake up, and I often have a hard time shaking the lingering effects all day, leaving me anxious and hypervigilant. Last night, I went through the evening that Joe left fingerprint bruises on my behind after he told me I was too big of a prude to satisfy him, and that he was going to take me however he wanted to show me what I was missing. The night before, it was about Dickie. The thing about Dickie is that he didn't play the mind games Joe does. He just got drunk and did what he wanted, and he never heard me," I manage to say, wishing I could find a way to make my voice stronger.

I squeeze my eyes tight as I work to open up to this man who deserves to understand from where I'm coming. I start my story again, my body coiled with tension. "Dickie always managed to come off with this good guy quality that made me feel like a terrible person if I denied him. I've never been into butt stuff, ever. It is a no for me; always has been. He was obsessed, as is Joe. Throughout our relationship, Dickie kept trying to cop a feel, sneak a finger in, stuff like that. The last time we had sex, it was after we'd gone out on a date, and we both had too many glasses of wine. I think we were both trying to make each other's company more tolerable as we kept running out of things to say to one another. Anyway, we came home and continued the date. He rolled me over to take me doggy style, but instead of doing it the usual way, he began to press where I didn't want him to be. I tried to pull away, telling him no and to come to do something else with me, using flirting as a distraction. He grabbed my hips and slammed into me instead. I think I might have screamed and struggled briefly before I froze. He ignored me, probably took my lack of fight as me consenting, and only pulled out when he finished.

"I fled and locked myself in the bathroom only to discover I was bleeding. When I came back into the bedroom, Dickie was waiting for me. He said, 'See, I knew you'd love it, baby. That was the best sex you've given me.' I told him I didn't like it, and I would never do it that way again. He looked at me with disappointment and said, 'I thought the Burg taught you how to be a better wife than that,' before he laid down on the bed and passed out. I slept downstairs on the sofa. The next day I went to a private GYN practice outside the Burg, and when I came back, he was fucking Joyce in the ass on our new dining room table.

"I hurt more the next day, and the doctor gave me a couple of stitches. When I walked in on the two of them, something snapped in me, and I channeled my physical pain into anger. When Dickie slunk away to 'Let me cool down,' I took everything he owned, including the table, and made a bonfire in the front yard. I'm proud of the way I stood up for myself that day. As things progressed negatively between Joe and me, and when you kept qualifying our relationship, it added water and fertilizer to the seed of doubt Dickie had planted. I began to believe I'm not good enough because I wouldn't do everything they wanted," I don't want to continue, but I know I have to. I'm desperate for Carlos to understand, and maybe, possibly, still want me anyway.

"I know you said you'd wait and take things at my speed, but I don't know how long it's going to take for me to feel healed enough to take that step. I'm scared of liking sex and retreating into it, I'm scared of the random flashbacks where I relieve the times when sex was terrifying, and I'm scared of not being good enough. The only thing that I know right now is that you love me, and it's my anchor in a very emotionally turbulent world. Please don't think for a second that I don't completely love you. I'm terrified that what I just said will be the thing that makes you realize my love has more conditions than you thought and that you can't do this after all. I would understand, and I would let you go," I say as tears spill down my face forlornly, and I collapse my head forward so that my forehead rests on our clenched hands.

Carlos lifts his free hand, which had been gently resting on my back, and sets it on my head, smoothing my hair out of my face. "Oh, _Querida_ ," he says quietly, and I hear a husky waiver in his voice. " _Te quiero incondicionalmente, siempre,"_ he whispers as much to himself as to me. I feel him struggling with his emotions, and I turn my head to peek at him through damp lashes. He matches my gaze, and his brown eyes are bright, and his face is sorrowful. I'm convinced this is the moment he's decided to let me go. I kiss his hand before releasing it. As I begin to move away, Carlos rushes to pull me back. (I love you unconditionally, forever.)

"No, Babe, no," Carlos says, his eyes searching mine as he turns so that we are facing one another, his hands holding mine. "Don't go. Please," he pleads. "I love you. No conditions. No time limit."

My mouth opens slightly, and I tilt my head as I try to make sense of everything. Carlos senses my questions and, leaning forward slightly, continues in a heavily accented voice, "I understand everything you have said, and I respect you for sharing it with me. I know it's hard for you to share your history, and I'm grateful you've entrusted me with it. You're right. We have never made love. Neither one of us has ever been that emotionally available to the other. As this week has gone on, I've fallen deeper in love with you with each passing day. I can never imagine just having sex with you again. You, Stephanie, are worth waiting for, as long as it takes. I know you will heal. I have absolute faith in you, and I've seen you come farther than I ever expected this week already. When the time is right, we will make love, and it will be incredible. I will always respect your boundaries. I promise to never take advantage of you and to honor you with my words and body. When you want to try new things, I'm here, willing and waiting, but with no pressure. You can say yes, and if the next second, it's a no, that's completely acceptable, and we stop. It isn't a mixed signal to me. It's your right, and I will respect you, always."

Carlos moves closer, spreading his knees to the outside of mine, and he places his hands on either side of my head. "Babe, I love you. Unconditionally. Forever. No qualifiers. I will spend every day proving that to you. I believe in you, and I believe in us. I'm not going anywhere," he says, passion pouring through every word.

Tears come again as my hearts bursts at his declaration. I surge forward, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his neck. He catches me and presses me into him. I kiss him at the place where his neck meets his collarbone as tears of relief come unbidden. "I love you. I love you so much. Thank you for understanding," I choke out. He kisses my cheek, and I turn my face back towards his. Our lips meet, and the kiss is gentle but fervent, our souls connecting as we open ourselves to one another.


	49. Chapter 49

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Happy Monday lovely readers! I haven't replied to your reviews after the last two chapters, but I have read each multiple times and will reach out individually in the near future. Several comments have left me beaming in delight, and several more have given me lots to chew on. I'm very grateful for your feedback and involvement.

Vicki Snyder1, who has been a wonderful champion of this story, begged that the lemons we all want not wait until the end of the story. Fear not! Based on my outline, you'll have plenty before this is all done. I have no intention of giving you all angst and no joy. :-)

A chapter can't go by where we don't give special appreciation to misty23y for her work as both my sounding board and beta. Thanks, Babe!

* * *

 **Chapter 49**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 22 SEP18 1300-1700

 **Ranger POV**

I kiss my Babe, attempting to pour every ounce of love I have for this woman into the moment. When she begins to break away, I follow her lead, resting my chin on the back of her head as she tucks her face into the crook my neck. I keep going over Steph's words, but my mind is too stunned to process everything. I think we both need a small break before continuing this conversation.

Steph pulls away and sits so that her feet and legs are entirely in the water with her head resting my bicep after I settle beside her, my boot-clad feet remaining on the dock. "What do you use this platform for?" Steph asks.

"Mostly swimming and the jet ski. I think the previous owner would fish," I reply, grateful for the reprieve in the topic at hand as I formulate my response.

Steph picks up her head and turns towards me with a surprised look of delight on her face. "You have a jet ski?" she says with excitement. "Where is it?"

"Babe," I reply, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I keep it in private storage when I'm not residing in the house." It will be out of storage before the day is done, just so I can see that smile again. I stand and hold my hand out to her, and Steph takes it after pulling her leggings down and sliding her feet into her flip-flops. I pull her up onto the patio and keep her hand in mine as we walk around the house towards the side yard. I think we are both in need of a nap.

Steph moans with contentment as I pull her into the hammock with me, and I wrap my arms around her as I kiss her crazy curls. Holding her gives me deep peace. We sway in the breeze, and it doesn't take long before I feel Steph's muscles relax and hear her breathing even out. I keep my eyes closed, using the moment to reflect on the morning.

Rodriguez did an excellent job on the marriage bet investigation, and he has shown the same caliber of work on the other reports required this past week. I will make sure Tank includes a hefty bonus in his next paycheck. I suspected the bet included at least a hundred people, but I grossly underestimated how many players have become involved and how big the pot had grown over the past two decades. That Steph's father is so invested will devastate her.

I wonder how Frank sought to achieve his objective. He has shown very little interaction in her day to day life. I decide that he must be using his wife to manipulate Stephanie, and I wonder how much Ellen knows about the bet. I'm astounded Valerie and Albert are also so invested.

I'm not sure when to tell Stephanie about the report. I'm glad she finally told me what's on her mind. However, it's also clear that while she is doing a lot better than she was a week ago, Steph is still in a fragile place. I slept hard last night, and I wish I would have woken up when Steph escaped the bed and her nightmares last night. I wonder what she did while awake and how long she was up.

When Steph settled onto the dock, I first thought she was figuring out what to say, but I became increasingly concerned as the stress of approaching what was on her mind began to manifest itself physically. I think she may have even had a flashback, and I am relieved she responded to me. I know she is and will continue to experience symptoms of her PTSD for some time as she heals. Her focused effort to mentally move beyond what was becoming a panic attack was impressive. Steph is taking the advice she's being given in therapy seriously. I am deeply proud of her work and determination.

When Stephanie began to share her thoughts and reasoning to me, it took every ounce of control I have not to interrupt her a dozen times to tell her how wrong she had things. There is no way I would ever leave her because we do or don't have sex. I want Steph in my life because of who she is and not what she chooses or doesn't choose to do in bed.

Just as I was trying to understand her rationale, even if I don't agree with it, I could feel Steph's tension increase exponentially. My hand is still sore from her grip on it. I understand the horror of nightmares, and I hoped her anxiety was due to that. I was utterly unprepared for the bombshell she dropped next. I can feel my heart rate pick up as I ruminate over Steph's reveal.

I already knew Joe Morelli emotionally and physically abused Steph, but I hadn't considered the role Dickie Orr might have also played in her history. That bastard fucking raped her, too, but I don't think Steph understands that. When she told the Core Team and me her past, the incidents she related were for things that happened, for the most part, outside of an established relationship. In a place as backward as the Burg, could it be that on some level Steph believes that the way her ex-husband treated her was acceptable or less terrible than it is because they exchanged vows? Does she think that her full consent to any and everything is an expectation in a marriage or committed relationship and that she is at fault for not meeting some ridiculous notion of a wife's duty? Dickie Orr is officially on my shit list.

What broke me, however, was when she confessed that my dumbass qualifiers, all those times I put up my walls in a misplaced sense of protection, contributed to her idea of not being good enough now. Suddenly, all of the things I wanted to interrupt and say no to in the beginning made logical sense from her perspective. The woman with the biggest and most generous heart I've ever known has spent her life being denied love, having her generosity abused, and probably doesn't understand or know how to accept love without some level of fear of rejection from me or much worse in the case of any nearly every other person in her life.

At that moment, clarity dawns. That's it. That's my role in this. My job is to help teach Steph that she is worthy of love, love doesn't come with conditions or qualifiers or expectations. I created some of the damage, but I can also undo it. I can show Steph with patience, example, and my words that she should live for herself, on her terms with boundaries that should be honored and respected, always. I will love her, and that support is how I can offer her the skills she needs to find freedom away from the trauma inflicted on her by her family, friends, the Burg, and others. She can learn to love and respect herself, determine that it's okay to establish and enforce her personal limits and learn to accept unconditional love in return.

An hour passes before Steph begins to blink away her sleep, and her hand moves to grab my shirt as she does. I place my hand over hers and kiss her head. The tension that snapped into her body as she woke up eased as I did. "Shhh, _Querida_ ," I murmur, wondering what she was thinking. Steph loosens her grip on my shirt and moves her hand to the waistband of my pants. An unexpected warmth spreads through me, beginning where Steph's fingers graze my bare stomach as she slides a hand under my shirt.

"Are we good?" Steph asks tentatively, and my heart aches at her need for reassurance.

"Yes, _Querida_ , we're more than good. I meant every word I said," I quietly reply.

"Thank you," comes Steph's quiet voice.

"Do you know that what Orr did was wrong?" I gently ask. Steph's fingers still, and she doesn't reply. "You always have the right to say no, whether you are married, in a committed relationship, or having a one-night stand. It doesn't matter. He should never have done that to you, and I will never do that to you. I will always respect you and honor your boundaries, just as I know you will respect me," I continue, hoping I'm not pushing her too far.

Steph is silent for several minutes, but her fingers find their way to the top seam of my pants, and she runs a finger under the edge. It's as though with the continuing back and forth motion I can feel her thinking. "Was that rape?" she eventually whispers, her voice so soft I can barely hear it.

"I'm sorry, _Querida_ , but yes, it was. You did not give your consent, and freezing doesn't imply consent," I respond, trying to pour compassion and non-judgment into my tone. I hug her closer to me as I wait for her to reply.

"And by that measure, Joe shouldn't have been pressuring me either," Steph continues after a moment, her voice slightly stronger.

"No. Your partner should never threaten, coerce, or pressure you into anything you aren't comfortable doing with them. A relationship is about much more than sex," I say, interested in her analytical reaction to this conversation.

"And you're promising me that you are okay with a lack of physical involvement right now. You're willing to adjust and respond to my changing yes and no stances on things without being angry with me or threatening to leave. You promise you won't pressure me to do more than I am willing to, and that your love for me isn't dependent on my sexual performance," Steph summarizes.

"Yes. I love you, all of you, whatever you are willing to give with no expectations or demands," I affirm, kissing her head again.

"Okay," she says before falling into silence once again, and her hand stills and rests on my abdomen.

I uncharacteristically break the silence first. "How are you feeling, Babe?" I ask, somewhat surprised by her lack of emotional response to this conversation.

"I know I should be more upset by the knowledge that Dickie raped me, but I feel mostly numb. I mean, it's not the first time I realized someone I trusted raped me. Mostly, I'm relieved to hear you say that it didn't happen because of anything I did or didn't do. As I've been learning this week, it's not my fault, and I'm working on letting all of this go so I can focus on my future and us," Steph states in an even tone.

"I'm proud of you, Babe. You've learned a lot this week. It's also okay if you do feel upset about it later. I'm here for you, whatever your reaction," I respond. I suspect she might still be processing everything, and that her heart hasn't caught up with her mind yet. Just because Steph's been through something before doesn't mean it should be any less difficult the second time, and it's sobering that she's considering assault commonplace in her life.

"I know, Carlos. I'm lucky to have you. I love you," she says, turning her face towards mine.

I lean forward to kiss her gently before replying, "No price, Babe. I'm the lucky one."

With that, we carefully extract ourselves from the hammock and walk into the house. I check the time and see it's 1500. I cut up a couple of apples and place them on a plate with a few cheese slices, popping open jar of nuts for the side. Steph leans against the island across from me, her eyes following me with unwavering attention while her body remains still. It's atypical and my biggest sign she is still processing our conversation this afternoon.

I push the plate towards Stephanie. As we eat in silence, a plan forms in my mind. "I need to go shopping," I say, wiping off my hands. "I would like your help getting a couple of things. Interested?"

Steph's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She nods yes and retreats to the bedroom. I follow to change into casual pants and loafers over my go-to black cargo pants and boots, and I return to the kitchen to give Steph some space and time. When she steps into the room ten minutes later, she's changed into jeans paired with a long-sleeved black cotton three-quarter zip up and her tennis shoes. The shirt fits loosely, and the jeans she bought off the rack earlier this week are too big for her smaller frame. It tells me she doesn't realize just how much weight she's lost this summer. Steph neatened her hair in a ponytail, and she must have applied a little make-up. I think she always looks great, but the refreshed look does make her eyes sparkle a bit more.

I place both my hands on her hips and lean down for a kiss. "You're beautiful, Babe," I said before kissing her again. I open the door to the Turbo, and Steph slides in, a look of satisfaction on her face as she settles into the seat. Steph's history of orgasmic delight in this vehicle has given me more than one hard-on while driving. My single favorite moment with her sexually was when we did it in the Trenton Turbo. It wasn't the most comfortable, but her wild abandon has fueled many fantasies.

I discretely adjust myself before entering the vehicle. Steph doesn't need to think I'm propositioning her right now. We drive in continued silence, but Steph rests her hand on my leg as she takes in her surroundings with alert interest. We pull into the parking lot of a big box sports store, and I hold her hand as we walk inside and grab a cart. "Since you've begun living in our home, I noticed there are some things, especially in the gym, that are lacking or aren't the right size for you. You also seem the most comfortable in your athletic clothes, and I thought you'd like to pick out a few more things to wear," I say, indulging her unspoken curiosity. Steph smiles in return.

"Thank you. A shopping trip is a great idea. Hector and I have been lamenting the lack of mouth guards, for example," she says. I reviewed the video of the sparring session Bobby angrily interrupted yesterday evening. I understand why he was upset. Steph was fierce in that fight, and even I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around this newly revealed version of herself.

When we get to the boxing area, I watch with a fascination that I hide behind a blank face as Steph confidently browses the gear, selecting gloves, a mouth guard, shin guards, ankle support wraps, headgear, and wrist wraps. Once she's satisfied with her the first round of selections, she begins to pick out another set. "For Hector," she states. "I know you like to take the boys to the mats bareback style, but Hector and I prefer to work out and protect our bodies. If you are interested in sparring with me at some point, I recommend picking out some additional protective gear besides the gloves for yourself or possibly Lester and Bobby," she continues with a matter of fact tone, her attention never diverting from the task at hand.

I raise my eyebrows with my blank face disappearing in astonished response to the woman standing before me. If someone had told me six months ago that I'd be buying boxing gear with Steph, and that she would be encouraging me to purchase my own if I wanted to fight her, I'd have called them barking mad. Instead, I join her and select gear similar to what she has chosen for Hector. At the end of the aisle, Steph stops again and opens a box to inspect a pair of training shoes.

"Are you able to find out what size shoe Hector wears?" she asks, and I pull out my phone.

"Nine and a half," I report a moment later.

"That's what I thought," she mutters under her breath, absorbed in her task.

We make our way past the swimming gear, and Steph stops again. "Is there snorkeling gear in the house?" she asks. I shake my head no as she selects fins, face masks, and snorkels for both of us as well as goggles and a swim cap for the pool. Does Steph swim? I hadn't seriously considered it, but given how much time she's spent living by the ocean and her natural gravitation towards the water, I'm not going to discount the possibility.

This trip is the quietest I've ever seen Steph in a shopping environment. She's taking the task of considering and selecting equipment to heart, and it underlies to me just how seriously she is taking her goal of physical self-improvement. We wander towards the clothing section, and I stop near the women's department. I take her hand and pull her gently towards me. "Take your time and try on whatever you want. I'm going to check out, put these things into the Turbo, and I'll look for you when everything is loaded. Does that sound like a plan?" I say, studying her reaction. She smiles back at me.

"Sound like a plan. Are you sure I didn't pick out too much? All that gear is going to be pretty expensive," she responds before biting her lip.

I have to keep from snorting. I don't think Steph understands how much money I make each day. "I'm sure," I say evenly. "I mean it, pick out whatever you want." Steph reaches up for a quick kiss before disappearing between the racks. Thirty minutes later, she has a basket filled with a variety of garments, and we are working our way towards the checkout. As we do, we pass a display for lawn games I usually don't give a second look at, if they got a first glance at all. This time I do as Steph tugs on my hand and looks up with me with eyes big with excitement.

"Carlos, do you play cornhole?" she says with hopeful enthusiasm.

"I do now," I reply, leaning over to pick up the large box and place it over my shoulder. I should have driven the Cayenne, I think, knowing it's going to be a tight squeeze to fit this in the sports car.

"Show off," Steph teases with a big smile at my one-armed maneuvering of the game. "But you should know, you are going to lose."

"Babe," I reply, making no effort to hide my smile.


	50. Chapter 50

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: 'Tis the holiday season and with the business of events this time of year, I can reply to reviews or post the next chapter. I hope you understand why I chose the latter, but please know how much I enjoy reading your comments. I was blown away by everyone's reception to chapter 49. Thank you!

Many thanks to misty23y. I guarantee this story would not be what it is without her.

* * *

 **Chapter 50**

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 22 SEP18 1700-2200

 **Stephanie POV**

"Hector," I say with enthusiasm, standing in the doorway of his bedroom. "Come see what Ranger and I bought!" I watch Hector set aside his laptop with what only a trained eye would be able to determine as a smile. I know it's at least a 200-watt effort. I take his hand and excitedly lead us to the gym.

We begin pawing through the bags left inside the door, and Hector lets out a low whistle of appreciation. "I know! We purchased the best gear we've ever used!" We become absorbed in our task, trying the pieces on, making fit adjustments, and finding proper storage locations. I'm doing an easy drill on the bag with my new gloves and hand wraps when I feel a tingle on the back of my neck. I drop my stance and turn to see Carlos leaning against the wall beside the door, a look of amused pride on his face.

I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his neck, stand on my tiptoes, pulling myself up so that we are nose to nose. "Thank you," I say sincerely. "This is a much-appreciated present. You had a great idea." I close the distance between us with a kiss, and Carlos places his hands on my hips as I do. I keep the kiss short, but I pour my love into it, breaking away by standing flat-footed again.

"You're welcome, Babe," Carlos replies, his eyes showing his happiness at my delight. I take a step back and begin to remove the hand gear, walking past Hector to put it away in the corner storage container. "I'm looking forward to seeing what you two will do with it all," he states.

Hector nods towards Carlos. " _Gracias,_ Ranger," he says, holding up the shoes. Ranger nods in reply, and I flash a smile back at Hector as we exit the room.

I follow him towards the kitchen where Lester and Bobby are working on dinner. I settle onto a stool and watch as Bobby shreds chicken with efficiency while Lester lifts the lid on a pot of rice to add some corn and stir it. "What are you making?" I ask, my curiosity taking voice.

Lester gives me a big grin. "This is chicken enchiladas with poblano cream sauce, sweet corn rice, and black beans. It's my favorite meal, outside of _Abuela's_ empanadas, but we only have those on special occasions," he says.

"Mmm… I'm excited to try it," I respond genuinely, standing and walking to the dining room to see if I can be useful setting the table. It's an available job, and when I finish, the food is plated, and everyone takes their meal to the neighboring room.

I've never, knowingly at least, had a poblano pepper, and I'm instantly delighted by it's smooth, smoky heat. "You did a great job cooking this, Lester. I can see why it's a favorite. Thank you," I say earnestly.

Lester looks like the Cheshire Cat. "I got the recipe from a small restaurant in Panama. Esmerelda, the owner's daughter, was happy to make the exchange after receiving dessert from me," he says, his eyebrows waggling. I laugh in reply while Carlos shakes his head.

"Now I know why it took so long for my meal to come out that night," Bobby says, grimacing.

I listen to the guys exchange stories as I finish my meal, but I notice Carlos continues to have that same air of pre-occupation. I assumed the hunch I had earlier that he needed to talk to me was because he knew I had something on my mind, and, now that I bared my soul, he would be returning to normal. Well, at least normal for Carlos. While I don't think that made the wrong assumption, his behavior is convincing me that there is something else concerning him. I hope that the stress of dealing with my crazy isn't catching up to him. Regardless, it is something that Carlos is choosing to keep to himself right now, and I am going to trust that he has a good reason for it.

Lester is taking advantage of his dishes free poker prize by mixing himself a drink at the bar. I join him to whisper conspiratorially, "Hey, partner. Want to continue your winning streak?"

Lester wraps an arm around my shoulder. "You know I do, Beautiful. What do you have in mind?"

Thirty minutes later, Lester and I are shouting, "Drink! Drink! Drink!" to Bobby and Hector as they go bottoms up on their beers. Ranger stands in for Bobby, taking the cornhole bag in hand. "Losers start," I taunt, as Ranger lets free the bag.

Unfortunately for Lester and I, it slides into the hole, and we take a pull from our beers. Cornhole is far and away my favorite lawn and drinking game. The premise is simple. Two teams stand behind wooden boards that are slightly elevated at an angle with a hole in the center back. The boards are placed 27 feet apart, and the players take turns tossing six square bags filled with corn feed at the opposite board. A bag in the hole is three points, touching the hole is two points, and on the board is one point. The play continues back and forth, resetting every round until a team scores 21 points. The opposing team takes a drink for every three-point toss achieved, and the losing team finishes their drink.

I respond with a bag in the hole, and Carlos almost smiles as he takes a sip of his beer. Hector aims, and the bag lands on the top right corner of the board. I'm impressed at how well he is playing considering it is his inaugural event. I groan with Lester when his bag lands half in and half over the hole. Biting my lower lip, I maintain eye contact with Carlos as he releases his second bag. He sinks it. Lester and I clink the necks of our bottles before taking another drink. After picking up the last bag, I turn it over in my hands a couple of times, letting the weight of it settle on the fingertips. I step forward as I release it in an underhand motion, knocking Lester's bag in with my own. Lester and I cheer at a perfect score in the first round.

The second round continues as the first with Carlos and me sinking our single tosses. We enter the final round with Lester and I ahead 17-16. Carlos sets up the first throw, and I meet his eye just as he is about to release and give him my best come hither look. His bag waivers and lands in the one-point zone. Hector shakes his head in disgust while I do not attempt to hide my laughter. I steadfastly avoid looking at Carlos as I release my first bag, but I stumble during the release, and it slides off the back end. I bury my face in my hands as Lester pats my back.

Hector is starting the feel the effects of the alcohol, and his bag barely lands on the board for one point. Lester lets go just as Bobby yells, "Santos!" in his best drill sergeant voice, and it's distracting enough for it to waiver and land on the board, but below the hole. With the score now tied at 18-18. Carlos quickly releases his final shot in a perfect arc, having learned the lesson of distraction. Lester and I take a drink after the bag doesn't even touch the edges of the hole before landing. I glance at Carlos as I hold the last bag. He's looking at me with a self-satisfied smirk; his arms crossed over his chest.

I take a deep breath, swing my arm back, and release. The bag lands with a loud "plop" on the board before sliding and pushing Lester's bag into the hole with my own. We win, 23-21. I shriek with delight, high-fiving Lester before letting loose a ridiculous victor's dance, my arms swinging in front of me to the beat of my own song. Carlos finishes his beer with Hector, sets down the bottle, and stalks my way. "Told you I'd win," I tease ungraciously, smiling broadly.

He looks down at me with a grin of his own. "I think I'm the one who's winning," he says before kissing me, and as my insides turn to goo, I think his claim is disputable.

I decided to let Bobby rotate into my spot and sit out the next round. Continuing to nurse my beer, I wander around the veranda, stopping at the water's edge. I do a short happy dance when I see a sleek, black jet ski moored to the floating dock. A jet ski is one of life's purest forms of pleasure. It's impossible to be anything less than happy on a jet ski. "Babe," Carlos breathes into my ear before kissing my head, wrapping an arm around my waist.

"This is exciting! We have to go out tomorrow!" I squeal, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. Carlos squeezes my hip with his hand, and I take it to mean that he is also doing a happy dance and will go out on the water with me tomorrow.

After another hour of enjoying the comradery of my brothers, I excuse myself to the bedroom. It's 9:30, and I want to have a quiet moment to unwind and say my affirmations before falling asleep. I decide to take a warm bath, and the tub is half filled with water when Carlos enters the room. "Would you like some company, Babe?" he asks, running his fingers down my arms before resting them on my waist, his fingers under the hem of my shirt.

"Yes, please," I murmur, releasing the latch on his belt. By opening up to my intimacy issues with Carlos, I feel a tremendous weight has been lifted. I'm free to experiment and to enjoy certain aspects of being physical with him without fear of repercussions. It's liberating. I press in so that our bodies are firmly against each other and catch Carlos' lips in my own, my tongue seeking permission. We melt into each other as I wrap my arms under his shirt, and my body feels alive as I explore his smooth, supple flesh with my hands. When we break away a minute later, and I'm left flushed and breathless. I turn off the water to the tub and begin a mild striptease, keeping my eyes locked on Carlos' with a flirty smirk.

I look away, however, when I remove my shirt. I see the bandages and sigh, turning away slightly to remove them. Carlos, clad only in his boxers, closes the distance and places his hands gently on my arms. "You're beautiful, Babe. This," he says, beginning to help me remove the dressings, "is only temporary and in no way makes you less attractive to me." I raise my eyes to his. "Everyone has scars, Babe. We all wear them a little differently." My lips press into a tight smile before embracing him in a hug.

"Thank you, Carlos. For a man who doesn't talk much, you always seem to know the right thing to say," I reply. He kisses the top of my head in answer, and it spreads the feeling of love straight down to my toes. When we separate, I do so with newfound confidence. These marks are a part of who I am, for better and for worse, and they are part of my healing journey. I am going to be okay.

We settle into the bath, and I moan in delight as I find comfort nirvana in the warm water, completely relaxed in Carlos' arms. "Ya know, I've done a lot of talking this week. Tell me something about yourself," I say softly, hoping I'm not about to ruin the moment. "Please," I add quietly.

Carlos is quiet for a minute, and I'm afraid he is going to deny me. I'm certainly not going to ask the question twice. Just as I'm about to give up hope, he begins, "Miami is my favorite city, and I've wanted to take you here for a long time. My parents live in Newark, as do two of my four siblings. I moved here when I was fourteen, and at the time, I hated my parents for doing it. In hindsight, it was the best thing they ever did for me. I am the middle child of five children and the only boy." I'm entranced by his openness, barely breathing for fear that any response on my part might end the storytelling.

"My oldest sister's name is Celia. She is a lawyer for a prestigious firm here in Miami. She is married to her work but is very happy with her ambitions. Martina is my second oldest sister. She will celebrate her tenth wedding anniversary this year with her husband, Juan, and their three kids, Emma, 8, Mateo, 5, and Leo, 2. They live in Newark and make my mother, a doting grandmother, very happy. Celia is three years older than me, and Martina, a year and a half. My twin sisters, Elena and Luciana, are two years younger than me. They look identical, but those two couldn't be more different in personality. Elena is an elementary school teacher in Newark, married five years to Emmanuel, who is a pediatrician, and they have their first baby on the way.

"Luciana is the most like me. She attended college on a Navy ROTC scholarship and commissioned as a Marine Corps Officer. When I asked her why the Marine Corps, Luciana said she did it to spite me for joining the Army - the weaker service, as she put it. Following The Basic School, she designated as an intelligence officer. Over five years my sister completed one tour in Iraq and two tours in Afghanistan. She decided to become a reservist after her last tour, and her civilian job is here in Miami with Rangeman. She is proudly single.

"My parents' names are Ricardo and Maria, and they've been married for 42 years. My _Padre_ is an accountant, and my _Madre_ is a stay at home mom. I didn't grow up rich but nor did I grow up poor, as many other second-generation immigrant families we knew did. My _Madre_ supported my Padre's career, and my _Padre_ worked extremely hard to climb the corporate ladder and invest his money wisely. His desire to be a good provider, however, left him with very little time to be a mentor in my life. What time he did have was occupied by my much more vocal sisters. I grew up faster than I should have, shouldering many of the traditionally masculine household responsibilities in his absence. By the time I was a teenager, I was angry and bitter. I acted out by seeking a new family in a gang where I felt my contributions were properly recognized. It was foolish arrogance. I was arrested for trespassing, graffiti, and possession of an unregistered weapon. My parents hired a lawyer, and he got me off with community service. They sent me here so I would have the undivided attention of my _Abuela_ Rosa. My _Abuelo_ , also named Ricardo, passed away when I was eleven. My _Padre_ has three brothers, and _Abuela_ Rosa knew how to best raise a defiant, immature teenager with a chip on his shoulder.

"My Madre has two sisters, Alma, who is Lester's mother, and Ella, who you know from Rangeman. Lester has two brothers, one older and one younger. Lester's family still lives in Newark, except Lester, of course. My _Madre's_ parents, _Abuelo_ Eduardo and _Abuela_ Lola were killed by a drunk driver when I was seventeen. My uncles and aunts on my _Padre's_ side, along with my cousins and their families, mostly reside in the Miami-Dade area, and Rangeman employs a few members of the extended family.

"Lester and I were inseparable as kids, and the one negative to moving to Miami was living away from him. With _Abuela_ Rosa raising me in Miami, I became an honor student and graduated fifth in my class. Rutgers offered me a full scholarship. I took several AP and community college courses my junior and senior years of high school, and since those credits transferred, I graduated with a dual degree in Entrepreneurship and Leadership and Management in only two years. I went to Officer Candidate School, or OCS, afterward and was selected for the Ranger program a year later. I served ten years on active duty, and I'm technically still a Reservist with my contract work, but it's a special case.

"The first Rangeman branch was the Trenton office. The Core Team wanted to start small, in an area we knew well, with a population that had a relatively high crime rate but near affluent neighborhoods and businesses that would demand a better security service. We used the lessons learned in Trenton to create the Miami branch second. Boston and then Atlanta followed. The leaders of all three of these offices are people we served with in the military or are associates with people we served with and whose opinion we trust.

"Lester is a year older than me, and he also attended Rutgers at the same time, graduating in three years so we could attend OCS together. We met Tank during Ranger training and Bobby during our first deployment. He joined our unit as a seasoned Medic and is the oldest of the four of us.

"My favorite color is blue, my favorite foods are, like Lester, _Abuela_ Rosa's empanadas, seafood paella, and _ropa vieja_ with black beans and rice. My favorite dessert is _tres leches_ , so we both like cake, and my favorite alcohol is clear rum or red wine. The hardest thing I've ever done is give up my parental rights to Julie, but I would do it again. 9/11 had just happened, and I spent six years believing each day was my last while accruing more enemies every mission. The four years I've known you have broken down the walls I built to protect myself during the hard times. My biggest regret is sending you back to Morelli and then all the comments I made to keep you at arm's length. Last year I spent several months here in Miami. I sought treatment from Dr. Anderson, and I developed a relationship with Julie. I also negotiated my government contract so that the remaining five years of my military service before I retire will be spent exclusively in a training or advisory capacity.

"I've only ever loved one woman, and that's you. You swept into my life when I least expected it, and you have challenged and changed me in more ways than I can say. In many ways, you saved me," Carlos finishes in the most ordinary, conversational tone I've ever heard from him, as though this level of indulgence is a normal moment in his life. I'm left speechless by everything, my mouth hanging open like a codfish.

I turn on Carlos' lap so that I am sitting across his legs as best as the angle of the tub will allow. He's watching me with a cautious expression. It occurs to me this non-verbal expression of his vulnerability at being so open with me is as amazing as every word he just uttered. "Wow," I breathe before launching myself at him, attacking him with a bruising kiss, my fingers laced in his hair. "Thank you," I say, peppering his lips with kisses. I rest my forehead on his, and our noses barely graze each other. I close my eyes as my panting slows. "I love you," I say, and I mean it without any reservations or doubt.

" _Querida, te quiero,_ " he murmurs back, his breathing heavy.

We finish the bath enjoying the intimacy of washing each other. It's the safest I've ever felt in the company of another person. I change into Carlos' t-shirt and a pair of shorts and seek out Bobby to redress my arms before snuggling into waiting arms.

I mentally repeat my affirmations as I fall asleep, believing the words more than I did the first time.


	51. Chapter 51

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Holy moly – has it really been TEN DAYS since I last updated this? I regret I let the holiday hustle and bustle keep me from my regular posting routine, but it has been a delightful Christmas. I hope you have had a wonderful holiday season filled with lasting memories and joy.

At the end of this chapter, I will specifically thank all of my reviewers since Chapter 46. I greatly appreciate your feedback, encouragement, brainstorming, and enthusiasm. I read every comment a minimum of three times, and I have made several changes to this story based on your feedback.

As always, I must thank misty23y. Your work as my beta, especially challenging the direction and the details of the story, is a tremendous help and blessing.

* * *

 **Chapter 51**

Date/Time Stamp: Sunday, 23 SEP18 0200-0430

 **Stephanie POV**

I wish I could say that the perfect evening resulted in a perfect night's sleep, but the quiet recesses of my mind that are still wrestling with the realization Dickie violated me within the confines of our marriage raged to life. I sat up in bed, stifling my scream with a trembling hand, as my conscious mind caught up with my unconscious mind. Carlos sat up beside me and gently pulled me into a comforting hug, one arm wrapped securely around my body as the other stroked my hair, slowly smoothing from my crown and down my back before beginning again.

"Shhh, Babe, it's okay. You're safe," he soothes, and I catch onto his demonstrative breathing as I work to prevent the unwanted tears from falling. We work as a team, and I feel much calmer a couple of minutes later, but my brain is too busy putting away the intrusive memories again to immediately go back to sleep.

I kiss Carlos on the cheek and say, "Thank you, I needed that. I'm going to make a cup of tea. Please go back to sleep. I'm fine." He looks at me appraisingly before returning the kiss and laying down again.

I continue to collect myself as the tea brews, but the memories are running freely in my brain, and I know I will need a mental distraction before I can go back to sleep. I don't want to go back into the bedroom for my computer and risk waking Carlos. I don't think he'll mind if I use his computer, and I make my way to his office.

I log into my Rangeman user account and open up the company share drive. While I had confessed that I had hacked Hector's password to store the feed from my borrowed security cameras on the company server, I omitted that I changed my user profile to allow myself remote access into the network, probably giving myself more permissions than even Carlos. I knew Hector routinely changed passwords, and I didn't want to be locked out of my security footage should I need it.

I primarily use the access to review the various in-house instructions, policies, personnel ranking structures and biographies, and equipment user manuals whenever I'm bored, curious, or needing a distraction. Carlos sees me growing into the role of company operations and administrative officer, and I'll be working out of the Miami office for the time being. I decided to make my way to the personnel files to learn more about the Miami employees. I can only imagine the opinion many of them will have of me based on all the colorful rumors out there, and being Carlos' girlfriend isn't going to be a boost in the minds of some of the men and women who work here. The more I know about who I will be working with going in, the better off I'll be.

I'm clicking through the various records when I find one with my name on it. I've never looked through my information before. I open the file and see the expected background report, credit report, employment contracts, and pay records. However, that there is a file for me has piqued my interest, and I open the search function and type my name in to see what else will come up.

My eyebrows shoot up as a sub-file in the ongoing Trenton investigations file appears immediately. Here must be where Carlos is storing the various documents needed to convict Morelli. I open it with a sense of dread. Do I want to know what's in here? I gave Carlos my phone for a reason, and I trust him to be honest with me. My heart is pounding as I read through the document names. It's evidence of Morelli's infidelity, surveillance reports, court documents, a log of phone calls and electronic copies of messages, and documentation of the graffiti Joe left all over town after the Tasty Pastry. I feel nauseous as I identify two items that are electronic copies of Joe's police station betting logs and his sexual conquest log. Carlos and I talked about those, and I have no desire to pollute my mind with the specific details in either record.

I'm proud of myself for resisting the punishing temptation to open any of the documents. I'm about to close the window when the title, "Morelli Gillman Plum Impersonation Defamation Tape 20SEP18" catches my eye. What is this? I open the video file and gasp at the point-of-view image of anal sex fills the screen. I look closer at the woman, and I swallow bile as the understanding dawns that this woman has a credible likeness to myself. Oh my God. Joe intended to destroy any reputation I had left in the Burg with this tape. The camera drops to the ground when several TPD officers enter the room and the video stops. Why didn't Carlos tell me about this? I could have handled it, and after the initial shock, even realized I expected it. Joe has betrayed me in so many ways that this is hardly a stretch.

The thought _what else has he been hiding_ passes through my mind poisonously, and I scroll through the document titles more carefully. The cursor hovers over "Plum Marriage Bet Investigation Report." A pop-up box indicates it was last opened at 9:27 am Saturday. The information contained in this file must be what gave me the impression that something had Carlos mentally pre-occupied yesterday. Why didn't he tell me? I feel hurt that he is withholding information from me when he explicitly promised not to do so.

I open the report and begin to read the bet terms and conditions with a heavy heart. Tears stream down my face as I see the names of so many people I once considered to be a friend listed with a date, dollar amount, and what side of the line they fell on. The bets started out small with a few of the assholes Joe hung out with in high school, but money started pouring in around the time I began dating Dickie.

 _Joyce Barnhardt - $500, Will Marry_

So that's what she saw in Dickie. She let him take her on my dining room table as a way to fuck with me for her profit.

When I divorced Dickie, the number of bets nearly tripled. I choke on a sob, and my hand falls away from the mouse.

 _Frank Plum - $5,000, Will Marry_

My father, who said he didn't have any money to give me as a loan when I was starting over after Dickie, and again when I lost my job at EE Martin, bet on my relationship with Joe Morelli.

I keep scrolling, needing to rip the Band-Aid off at once.

 _Valerie Plum - $1,000, Won't Marry_

 _Albert Kloughn - $1,000, Will Marry_

My family treats me as a financial investment, and this is the ultimate betrayal of my love and trust. I close the document and furiously log off of the computer, my tears preventing me from being able to see clearly enough to read any further.

While my relationship with my mother has been trying for years, up until this past week, I had assumed she had my best interest at heart. In her mind, the road to happiness is paved with marriage, babies, pot roast, and good manners. It is the process of rehashing my history to Dr. Anderson and Carlos that made me understand many of my mother's words and actions contributed to the trauma that brought me to my PTSD diagnosis.

That my father, sister, and brother-in-law have known about the marriage bet and actively participated in it for at least ten years is indefensible. Before the thought has time to finish forming, I rip open the drawer I saw Carlos store my phone in and punch the autodial number for my parent's home.

"Plum residence," my mother answers, sleep heavy in her voice after the third ring.

"Who is it?" I hear my father grumble in the background. "Don't they know it's three o'clock in the morning?"

"Put Frank on," I say, my voice low and threatening.

"Stephanie?" my mom says alertly.

"Put Frank on, NOW," I reply forcefully.

"What's the meaning of this, Stephanie?" my dad says a second later.

"How dare you," I spit back. "How dare you bet $5,000 on whether or not I would marry Joe Morelli. You sat by for years acting the silent, suffering father all while manipulating me for your gain. HOW COULD YOU!" I yell, now standing behind Carlos' desk.

"How could I not?" my father shoots back bitterly, astonishing me into silence. "You've been a disappointment your entire life. First, you cost us thousands in unnecessary medical bills with your tomboy ways as a child. Then, you cost us our family's reputation and good name when you dropped your panties in the Morelli garage and then when you spread your legs like a slut for him at the Tasty Pastry. I thought you were redeeming yourself when you returned home from college, but you drug our name through the mud yet again when you ran him over with the car, which caused our insurance rates to skyrocket. Your mother pulled a miracle when she convinced that Dickie Orr to marry you, but once again, you royally fucked that up and made us the laughing stock all over town once again. I couldn't even go to the Lodge and have a beer without hearing about it. A man who works as hard as I do to provide an honest living to his wife and kids deserves to have that one luxury in his life.

"Of course I bet that you would marry Morelli! It's the only thing left for you to do. You can restore your virtue, fix some of the damage you've caused to our family's reputation, and in the meantime, I can be repaid for the financial drain you have been. Hell, I hadn't even paid off the reception when you signed your divorce decree. You've caused your mother and I a great deal of pain and suffering. That bet is the best thing that ever happened to you. Now, young lady, come home immediately, apologize to your mother for making her worry, apologize to that Morelli boy for whatever you did this time to drive him away, and set a wedding date. After a year has gone by, we can consider your debt paid," my father demands.

"No," I respond instantaneously, surprising myself. "No. I will not come back, I will not apologize for being who I am, and if I ever do return to the Burg, it will be on my terms and not yours. As of this moment, I am no longer your problem, and I no longer consider myself your daughter," I say resolutely, ending the call and turning off the phone before returning it to the desk drawer.

In a daze, I take my cold tea, leave the mug on the kitchen counter and stand in the living room, staring with unfocused eyes at the city lights. I'm too overwhelmed to cry, to be angry, to feel anything other than shock at the abrupt turn my life has taken.

The conversation replays again and again in my head. As it does, the seductive whispers of darkness wrap around me like a weighted blanket.

I'm a disappointment. I am a financial drain. I destroy the reputation of others. I cause pain and suffering. I am a slut.

I try to turn the phrases into affirmations, but I can't form the words. Instead, my mind drifts to my history with Carlos.

Carlos always said he wished I would be better trained and learn to protect myself. I know I disappointed him by not taking my security seriously time and again. I've cost Carlos' hundreds of thousands of dollars, ultimately causing him to make me the entertainment line item on his budget. The newspaper has written numerous articles on the _Bombshell Bounty Hunter_. My exploits are well-known, and none of them make Rangeman look more professional whenever I've been associated with them. How many times have my near-death experiences caused worry and anxiety? Carlos darkened his soul by killing Abruzzi for me, and that's on me for not stopping Abruzzi's threats and stalking before it resulted in my kidnapping and torture. I am a whore and a slut. I don't know how many men I've slept with, and I've been in a love triangle with Morelli and Carlos for years. I hate my father right now, but he isn't factually wrong.

I'm pacing the floor, and as the despair mounts inside of me, I feel like I am going to explode. I think of a safe place for a second before lightly running to the garage and grabbing my Honda keys. I use the fob to unlock the door and slide into the driver's seat. The door is barely closed when I let out an anguished scream of anger, sadness, frustration, betrayal, and loss. I rest my head back on the seat with my eyes closed and hands tightly fisted on my lap. I refuse to cry. I will not give in to tears, but instead, I am going to work through this.

With clenched teeth, I forcefully control my breathing and focus all my mental energy inwardly. The first feeling that leaps up in the wake of my screaming is anger. Why? Why me? How could my family do this? Why did Carlos hide this? Can I trust him? My first impulse is to put the car into reverse and drive away, disappearing from everyone and everything once and for all. I picture myself on the open road, and I am surprised by the new feeling of desolation and loss that rises so suddenly it feels like I'm choking. In that emotional crush, a sharp clarity upsurges.

My reaction now is why Carlos didn't say anything about the report today. I had a rough morning revealing and understanding for the first time that what Dickie did was rape. Further, the last time Carlos revealed a significant update from home, I had a severe panic attack. He cared enough about me that he was worried all day yesterday about what my well-being would be upon receiving the information. Looking at me now, I can't blame him. I'm not going to run. I love Carlos and trust him with my life. My brothers here are my family now. I am going to stay, fight these demons, and take back my life.

I'm not sure that my father's assessment of me isn't wrong, but he crossed the line from being a loving parent to sperm donor when he bet on my life and manipulated everyone around me accordingly. I am an imperfect person, but I am worthy of love. I loved the Burg, and I felt a kinship with my community. I will never call that place home or those people family or neighbors again.

My eyes fly open, and I don't have the time to even yelp in surprise when the car door is yanked open, and Carlos is pulling me into his arms. "Stephanie," he says in a panicked voice. "What are you doing? Are you leaving?"

I shake my head no against his chest as the tears I've been holding back come rushing forward. "No, no I'm not. I needed a quiet place to think," I say between sobs. Carlos sweeps an arm under my legs and carries me back to the bedroom as I cry ugly, the emotions of the discovering the tape, investigation report, my phone call home, and personal realizations battle for release.

Carlos holds me firmly but patiently as I cling to him, pushing my body against his with my face pressed into his chest. I can't believe I considered leaving this place and these arms for even a second. I will never do it again. I have lost everything I once knew as home tonight, but I've gained the world.

I begin to gain control over myself again with that thought, but I make no move to change positions. I draw strength from Carlos' presence, and with it, calm. I feel as though I've been completely emptied, and in the void that remains, his love and commitment pour into me because I'm free of reservations or hesitation about him and what he means to me and my future. I'm by no means healed, but this is a huge step forward.

With that security, I decided to open up to him immediately about everything that transpired tonight. I reposition myself so that I am sitting in front of him on the bed, and I reach for his hands. Carlos looks at me with obvious concern. I take a deep breath, squeeze his hands tightly, and begin.

"No, I am not leaving. I need you to know that I will never leave you. I love you more than I could ever imagine loving another person. You are my home. You, Hector, Lester, Bobby, and Tank are my family. The only way I would ever leave at this point is if you asked me to. I've clung to my independence and stubbornness as a way to rally against the world, but it's only left me broken and weighed down. I need you, and not just as I'm healing, but I need you as my other half. I'm a stronger, more self-aware, and a freer person with you," I start, and Carlos' expression softens as his eyes widen.

"I gave myself more accessibility to the Rangeman computer network than anyone knows, and I use that access when I can't sleep to make myself smarter. I've read almost all of the instructions, manuals, and procedures saved electronically, and I practice the various system and programming skills I've picked up from watching Hector and studying. Since the goal is for me to be the administrative officer and assistant operations officer, I began reading the personnel files tonight. Along the way, I found my own, and, as they say, curiosity killed the cat," I explain. Carlos' expression becomes slightly more guarded, but he holds his tongue.

"I accidentally discovered and saw both the defamation tape Joe and Terry were making when TPD arrested Joe, and the marriage bet investigation report. I understand why you hadn't disclosed the information to me yet, and I trust that you eventually would have," I continue as Carlos comes the closest to looking shocked I've ever seen.

"As you likely anticipated, I was upset at reading the report, especially when I saw how invested my father is in the bet. I, I acted rashly," I stumble, sighing and looking down.

"Babe," Carlos says softly but firmly, his hand drawing my gaze back up to his. "What did you do?"

"I called my father, and I disowned my family," I admit, my voice wavering at the enormity of the situation. "I asked him how could he, and he essentially replied that I am a reputation-destroying, abhorrently expensive, disappointing slut of a daughter who causes undue pain and suffering to those around her and that I could only redeem myself by marrying Morelli." I have to blink away unwanted tears as the confession takes form. "I needed to deal with how awful I felt after the phone call, so I sat in my car to let it out where I wouldn't wake everyone up. I know my father has failed as a father, but I also know he isn't wrong in his assessment of me. I've been many of those things to you, and I want to do better, to be better, and I already am making better choices. I'm sorry, and I love you."

Carlos sits silently for a moment, and I see the muscle in his jaw twitching as he works to rein in his apparent anger. I deserve it, and I'm already resigned to accepting whatever chastisement comes my way. I pull my hands into my lap and run a finger over the nail imprints left there from my clenched fists in the car. Carlos glances down as I do, and I look up in confusion as he takes my hand in both of his and kisses both palms before resuming the gentle rubbing with his thumbs.

"Babe, I love you, and I need to take a break before continuing this conversation. I'm going to go to my office to sort out my thoughts. I won't be very long, but I don't think I can say what I am thinking very clearly without calming down first. Hector will be sitting in the entertainment room to keep you company," Carlos says in a strained voice before kissing my forehead and walking out of the room.

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A/N: As mentioned at the beginning of the chapter, please consider this a reply to your reviews left since Chapter 46.

Bonnie, shoegirl01, baileygirl12, thodes9, Elenimou, sbabe, jules3677, JB, Angela Mueller, Buddy's Babe, debnorm4, Blistful2006, Vicki Snyder1, Tommy14, avidereader72, Eleni, jkgk, Ybanormlmom, lucylovestammi3, Vulcan Rider, spikeecat, katannc, daxandpat, GarbanzoBeans, judyshue809, and Guest...

THANK YOU! I love that many of you often post after each new chapter, and I look forward to your insights and comments. Several more of you pop up once in a great while, and your moment of encouragement is very appreciated. You guys motivate me to write, but you also help me improve my writing and plot. I'm blessed to be writing in such an active and enthusiastic Fandom.


	52. Chapter 52

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Happy New Year! I hope 2019 is a year of many blessings for each of you. I'm going on vacation this weekend and wanted to make sure this posted before I left, and there won't be another update until next week. The comments left on chapter 51 were tremendous – wow, and thank you!

Every chapter bears the mark of misty23y, beta extraordinaire, who helps me keep this on track and readable.

* * *

 **Chapter 52**

Date/Time Stamp: Sunday, 23 SEP18 0330-0930

 **Ellen POV**

It's been 55 hours since I last had a drink. I spent the last 36 hours pretending I was coming down with the stomach flu, but I didn't have to fake any of the symptoms. Nausea, headache, clammy hands, and fatigue ironically combined with sleeplessness are all very real. I don't know when I let it get this bad. When did I begin to need alcohol to the point that two days without it has brought me to my knees? I don't think I'm an alcoholic, but I do know I never want to experience this again. I haven't replaced my bourbon since it ran out Thursday, but now I don't think I'm going to. I fake sleep as I lay next to Frank wallowing in my misery.

The ringing of the phone shocks me out of my self-pity. It takes me a second to identify the voice on the line as Stephanie's, not only because she disrespectfully called her father by his given name, but also because the rage and hostility in her tone are unlike anything I've ever heard from her. My heart is pounding as I pass the phone to Frank.

My relationship with my husband is one of comfortable understanding. I take care of the kids and household, and he is a reliable provider. We have sex two times a month, occasionally more. He tells me what he expects from the children, and it's my job to discipline them accordingly. Our biggest arguments have always been over Stephanie. She has never conformed, and she has always, much to our chagrin, been the talk of the town. Frank hates it, and he threatened to cut off my spending allowance several times over the years if I didn't fix Stephanie's damage. He was the angriest after the Tasty Pastry incident, when Stephanie ran over Joe with Big Blue, and when she broke off her engagement with Joe and reduced their status to "engaged to be engaged," whatever that means.

I dutifully accepted whatever Frank told me or requested of me, not even considering Stephanie's point of view until Thursday night. Laying on my bed the past day, I've had ample opportunity to replay my mother's and Angie Morelli's conversations in my head again and again. In my quest to be a good Burg housewife, did I fail to be a good mother? I only ever wanted my baby girl to fall in love and live a good, stable, successful life with a man beside her and baby on her hip. To me, that's the dream. I couldn't possibly be wrong for wanting my daughter to live a wonderful life, could I?

I lay paralyzed in the bed as I listen to Frank speak to Stephanie in a way he's spoken to me, and it sounds different directed at someone else. I'm astonished at what he's telling her. Wait, what's this? A bet? Frank is involved in a bet that Stephanie will marry Joseph? Why didn't he tell me? What's going on?

I hear Stephanie yell through the receiver that she is never coming home and no longer wants to be considered a member of the family, and my heart explodes in sadness and loss for my daughter. What have I done?

 **Ranger POV**

Steph's nightmares are worse than usual tonight, and I understand why she needed to reset herself mentally before attempting to go back to sleep. She looks shaken enough that, despite her reassurances, I'm tempted to join her, but I don't want to come across as smothering her. I'm also exhausted. I don't know how Steph has carried on as long as she has with this inadequate and broken sleep cycle of hers coupled with the daily onslaught of dealing with the extensive emotional trauma she has endured.

I was unprepared for Steph's confession on the dock today, and it's rattled me more than I first understood. I thought Steph had laid bare all of the sexual abuse she's experienced in previous conversations. It never occurred to me that she would consider anything that would happen in a relationship or marriage to not be grounds for assault, and further, that marriage doesn't mean someone gives up their right to have personal boundaries. _Dios_ , I hope she doesn't have any more skeletons like that in her closet.

I expected that part of what she was nervous to tell me yesterday related to sex, and I'm glad she found the courage to communicate her needs regarding sexual expectations. The thing that I'm struggling with the most, however, is when she linked my previous behavior with reasons why she is struggling with intimacy now. I never wanted to be someone who contributed to making Steph's life worse instead of better. My motivations were always to protect her, but I can see clearly in hindsight how my actions and words would be received so negatively. I can tell her to trust me all day, but I need to give her more to strengthen the foundation of this relationship. It's the reason why I opened up to her before bed, and I've never shared that much with anyone.

In spite of my desire to stay awake until Steph returned to bed, I drifted restlessly back to sleep with these reflections spinning through my brain. I woke up instantly nearly two hours later when I rolled over and found Steph's side of the bed cold. Why didn't she come back to sleep? The look on her face when she jerked awake from her nightmare flashes in my brain, and I pull on sweatpants as I begin to search the house.

My concern increases when I see the mostly full cup of cold tea on the counter. What distracted Steph from drinking it, and where is she now? I do a rapid sweep of the main spaces, and when it comes up empty, I go to my office to load the security feed. I frown when I notice my chair, keyboard, and mouse aren't in their usual position. What was Steph doing in my office?

I scan the feeds and my heart rate increases when I don't see Steph in any of the rooms or outdoor spaces. I know she was in here at one point, so I rewind the feed and track her movement from the office to the kitchen and then to the living room. I watch her pace in front of the windows, and I can tell by Steph's body language that she is upset. She runs out of the room, and it takes me a minute to determine she entered the garage.

 _No!_ Steph has come too far to run away now, but when she's upset, denial and escape are her historic methods of dealing with things. _Dios, please let me be in time to stop her_ , I pray as I sprint to the garage. I glance at the hooks and quickly identify the missing keys belong to Steph's Civic, barely breaking my stride towards the driver's side door as I do. Without hesitation, I pull Steph from the driver's seat and into my arms, partially to prevent her from leaving without at least saying goodbye and partially to calm my racing heart from the fear of her possibly deciding she can't be with me after all.

When Steph bursts into tears, the rational part of my brain screams that I must have scared the shit out of her. I carry her back into our room while attempting to calm Steph down again, but she's nearly inconsolable. This isn't the most upset I've seen her over the past week, but her crying right now is more than it would be for a nightmare or me startling her. I think back to the cold cup of tea, and I'm certain something happened while I slept.

I'm not sure if Steph is going to open up to me right away or not, and when she begins to speak, I'm astonished at the strength and assuredness she projects. My Babe wasn't leaving. She needed a place to make noise presumably; why? She is saying everything right, but something is missing.

Wait, Steph has administrator privileges to the Rangeman network? We didn't discuss this, and while it's admirable she is working hard to boost her skill set and job preparation, there are things, much like her gun, I'm not prepared to let her have access to yet. I figure it out a second before her confession. Stephanie read the investigation file. That's why she was so upset. She confirms it, and while concern for her well-being swells, my anger at her reading the report and watching the video without me rises faster. How can I help her if she doesn't trust me or seek me out to help her when she is having a hard time?

 _Damn it, Steph! Why do you insist on doing everything on your own?_ I know it's not an entirely fair judgment to pass on Stephanie, but my logical reasoning is cracking under the physical and emotional fatigue of the past week. I vaguely hear her tell me things I've always wanted hear, but the words are getting lost in the fog of the anger I am working to keep at bay. And then Steph falters in her confession. A weight sits in the pit of my stomach as I ask her what she did.

 _Fuck!_ She called her lunatic family. Why in the hell would she do that? I'm clenching my jaw to prevent myself from interrupting Steph and causing harm I know I'd regret later. She's telling me all the things her father said about her and her subsequent decision to disown her family. I'm about to relax slightly at how well she handled the aftermath of a bad idea to call in the first place when once again I'm lumped into things. Steph has already taken the shitty things her dad said about her and decided I must see her the same way, but that she is going to work to atone for the crap she doesn't need to atone for to be more deserving of me. It's too much for me to respond to right now. The only thing I'm sure of is that I'll fuck it all up in my anger.

I'm still afraid she'll run away from me again if I leave her alone, but I can't stay and salvage the conversation in my current emotional state. I do my best to sound comforting and non-confrontational before walking out of the room. First I go to Lester's bedroom. My beast, who I work very hard to keep locked down, very much wants to rage after all the shit that's gone down in the past twenty-four hours, let alone week.

"Get up," I bark. Lester is awake immediately. His eyes widen slightly when he takes in my expression, and he walks ahead of me to Bobby's room, as I detour to Hector's.

"Why the hell did you give Stephanie administrator access to the Rangeman network without running it past me first?" I launch, my anger desperately wanting something to focus on other than Stephanie.

Hector is out of bed and on his feet defensively in a second. He looks at me warily and narrows his eyes before replying in Spanish, "I didn't. I monitor administrator accounts. Estefania doesn't have one, but that doesn't mean she didn't find another way into the system. She's smart."

Stephanie's words play back in my head; _I gave myself access_. Fuck. He's right. I underestimated her again. "Go sit with Stephanie in the entertainment room," I order before turning and marching to my office, Lester and Bobby on my heels.

Lester stays closer to me than he usually would, understanding his role is to keep me from physically doing anything I would regret later. It's also why he got Bobby. No one person can do that job, which is one of many reasons I don't normally get to this point. Bobby closes the door, and they both adjust the chairs surrounding my desk as I sit heavily behind the monitor and place my head in my hands to calm my mind as I attempt to make better sense of everything.

Lester and Bobby give me space and time, but I can feel their eyes boring into me. I log into my computer before speaking. "I haven't given you a complete update since Morelli's arrest and charges. Some additional information has come in the past day and a half. Morelli was filming this video when Tank and the TPD interrupted him with handcuffs," I begin, relying on my military training to assimilate and debrief information to organize my racing thoughts and emotions.

"Holy fuck! That looks like Stephanie!" Lester exclaims in shock.

Bobby shakes his head in disgust. "You mentioned what got you so riled up before taking me to the mats, but now I'm surprised you didn't break a bone," he says.

"Rodriguez finished the marriage bet investigation Saturday morning. Here is the report. In short, Morelli has nearly 1.5 million dollars in a high-interest savings account accumulated from more than 1100 Burg participants betting over the past twenty years on whether or not Steph would marry Morelli. Steph's father is one of the most invested players, and if Steph marries Morelli and doesn't divorce for at least a year, he would win around a hundred-k. Almost everyone in Steph's family and people she considered friends in the Burg is on the list of participants," I continue without acknowledging Lester or Bobby's reactions.

"Yesterday, Steph revealed to me that in addition to the trauma previously disclosed to us, Dickie Orr anally raped her to the point she required medical attention, and she didn't understand it was assault because they were married. Joyce Barnhardt allowed that bastard to do the same thing to her on Steph's dining room table, but Joyce did it to break up Steph's marriage so the bet could continue," I barrel on. I leave out the part of the conversation regarding sexual intimacy boundaries, wanting to respect her privacy as best as I can in the situation.

"Steph mentioned she doesn't sleep well, and that's an understatement. She reports that this past week is the best sleep she's had in months, and based on that; I'm not sure how she's functioning as well as she has. I've gotten more and higher quality sleep in combat zones than she does most days. Tonight she had a nightmare, as she has every night, and slipped out of bed to process the dream and reset her mind. What was different about tonight, however, is that she didn't return. I drifted back to sleep and woke up a couple of hours to find her missing. It took me about twenty minutes to locate Steph in her car in the garage.

"I inferred she was going to drive away, and after talking to her, I don't think she was. However, Steph was upset enough that I considered whether or not you, Bobby, would need to give her a sedative," I state before taking a cleansing breath. Lester and Bobby guard their expression, but their eyes are wide and fists clenched.

"Steph has somehow figured out a way to grant herself access to every bit of data on the Rangeman network, and while it seems she usually ghosts her way through the system for individually guided training, tonight she discovered her investigation file. She sat in this room and chose to watch that video and read that report on her own before calling her father. Steph confronted him, and, from what I've gathered, Frank basically told her she was an expensive, disappointing slut of a daughter who brings dishonor to their almighty Burg reputation," I continue, anger dripping off of every word. "Steph disowned her family as a result. She went to her car to, I'm guessing, release her emotions over the whole thing without waking any of us up. It turns out, she believes all the shitty things her father said about her are true, and that we must also think the same based on our experiences with her. She's now determined to make amends for these perceived sins."

I lean back in my chair and rest my head against the top edge and stare at the ceiling. "I'm exhausted, and I'm pissed off. Why the hell did Steph go through that information without any of us, and why does she insist on trying to work through shit on her own? What does it take for her to believe that we can be trusted and that we only believe the best in her? It seems every time I think we've discovered all there is to know about how abused Steph has been her entire life, we uncover something new. I'm half tempted to firebomb the entire Burg. I want to kill Frank Plum and Joe Morelli, but they don't deserve the mercy," I finish, but the acerbic edge of my words has faded away.

"Damn," Lester mutters under his breath, but he remains vigilant in his posture, never lapsing in his role to make sure I don't go ape-shit all of a sudden.

Bobby has his fingers laced under his chin with a thoughtful look. "It's been a tough week, Ranger, and we've all been so focused on the investigations surrounding Morelli and stabilizing Steph that we haven't focused on debriefing ourselves and engaging in self-care outside of the gym. We've gone through some bad situations together, and this the most emotionally difficult one because it involves someone we all love, and there isn't a quick fix," he muses. I shift my gaze, so I'm looking directly at him.

"You're right to be angry about Morelli, Steph's family, the defamation video, the investigation report, Orr, Stephanie hurting herself by not asking for help, and everything else in this fucked up situation. However, we have to work to process the impact all that has on ourselves to maintain the ability to be detached just enough to make good decisions. You're the boss, but I think it would be a good idea to have either Lester or I with you when Tank reports information regarding Bomber's case," Bobby suggests. I understand what he is saying. I'm too close to Steph to keep my usual impassive objectivity. Hell, I'm doing exactly what Steph does. I'm bottling up emotions, stuffing them down, and focusing on everyone else. Denial didn't work for her, and it's not going to work for me.

"I'm not defending Beautiful for getting into the system, reading the reports, and calling her family without talking to anyone, but I'm going to play devil's advocate for a second," Lester says, getting my attention with his level-headedness. "Throughout her life, Steph has learned the lesson repeatedly that she is alone and that to trust someone usually has consequences. That includes us, as we have been there for her with her physical security but not always as a friend. Honestly, I'm surprised you even know she read the reports. Steph doesn't communicate with anyone what her needs are, and it's something I've talked to her about improving if we are going to be successful work partners. Beautiful has a habit of hiding herself away to deal with how she feels about things. I think she trusts us more than she's trusted anyone, and we have to keep building on that trust and gently redirect her when she's retreating into herself. It's been a week that feels like a year, but for perspective, Hector and I have only been here five days and Bobby four."

I feel my anger dissipate entirely. In the calmer space left behind, parts of Steph's explanation come in.

 _I understand why you hadn't disclosed the information to me yet, and I trust that you eventually would have._ I can't think of another time Steph would have ever responded so evenly to discovering I withheld something from her. It was after the fact, but she is learning to trust.

 _I know my father has failed as a father, but I also know he isn't wrong in his assessment of me. I've been many of those things to you, and I want to do better, to be better, and I already am making better choices. I'm sorry._ Steph isn't correct, but Lester's perspective is valid here. I can't be angry at her for assuming I would perceive her in some of the same light as her father. She isn't questioning whether or not I love her. She's looking at our history where I haven't always been there as a friend and where we've been fuck buddies but not lovers. I told her more than once that my love came with reservations, and those reservations were a feeding ground for self-doubt. It's going to take six times the number of words I pushed her away with to dispel the negative message, and I patiently need to be onboard for that. I know I know this, but in my fatigue, anger, and frustration, I forgot it.

 _I need you to know that I will never leave you. I love you more than I could ever imagine loving another person. You are my home. You, Hector, Lester, Bobby, and Tank are my family. The only way I would ever leave at this point is if you asked me to._ Steph saw her ex-fiancé have anal sex with another woman dressed to look like her, which I can only guess must have been a PTSD trigger for her given the past trauma she revealed to me. She then found out she's been manipulated by her family for financial gain and successfully confronted them, but in doing so, ended her relationship with them. And in the process of dealing with the aftermath of all that, she concludes that she will love and trust me and the men here with her with her whole heart. I'm not sure I'd be able to reach the same conclusion in the same circumstances.

"You're both right," I say after a long pause, and Lester and Bobby look at me with surprise. "Beginning Monday, we are going to start debriefing daily, Hector included, and if Tank has an update, he'll include you as soon as practical. That should help to keep things in perspective better. Thank you." If Lester and Bobby were surprised before, it's amazing they didn't fall out of their seats now. Steph must be rubbing off on me. I never admit when I'm wrong and then offer appreciation for having errors called out. At best I resort to silence.

With that, I stand and walk to the entertainment room to find and reconcile with Steph. When I cross the threshold, Hector catches my eye and holds a finger over his lips to indicate silence. I pause and let my eyes adjust to the darkened room. The TV is on mute, and in the glow, I see Steph wrapped in a blanket, asleep with her head on a throw pillow. There is a box of tissues and an unopened bottle of water on the floor in front of her. Steph's feet are against Hector's thighs, who is sitting protectively at the end of the couch closest to the door.

Hector stands and exits to the hallway, and I let him assume a position between Steph and myself. He crosses his arms over his chest and waits for me to begin. Normally this challenge to my authority would piss me off, but I'm fully aware that I'm not talking to Hector, my employee, but Hector, Steph's guardian angel. That Hector has no qualms about killing me if he thinks I'm a threat to Steph. I respect the distinction. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stormed into your room angrily but instead asked questions first," I start, and Hector quirks an eyebrow in reply. "I assume Steph spoke with you?" I follow up.

" _Si_ ," he says, waiting for me to continue. (Yes.)

"Thank you for sitting with her and for being her friend. Lester and Bobby will fill you in on things from my perspective," I say, looking beyond him to my Babe's sleeping form.

" _No le rompas el corazon_ ," Hector threatens before walking away. I don't plan on it. (Don't break her heart.)

I quickly move into the room and crouch before Steph's sleeping form. Tear tracks stain her cheeks, but her expression is otherwise peaceful. I gently kiss the crown of her head before sitting in the seat Hector vacated, putting my feet on the ottoman, and falling asleep.


	53. Chapter 53

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Hello! I'm feeling refreshed, both after a lovely weekend and also now that my life is returning to its normal routine. I'll let you in on the story development – up to this point, I've always had at least three chapters pre-written, but with holiday and life craziness, not anymore. I have my outline and a partially completed chapter 54, but your comments will have even more formative bearing than usual. So, tell me what you are hoping to see or gain from the next few chapters. You are as invested in this story as I am, and I don't mind incorporating some of your ideas (but I definitely have a few surprises up my sleeve!).

Forgive the delay in posting this chapter. It wasn't happy with it and rewrote more than half after a day of reflection. Thank you to misty23y, my lovely beta, who helped me work through both versions and bounce around ideas.

* * *

 **Chapter 53**

Date/Time Stamp: Sunday, 23 SEP18 0445-1030

 **Stephanie POV**

I stare at Carlos' back as he strides out of our bedroom, and my heart and stomach collide in a heavy, nauseous roll. I close my eyes and practice meditative breathing. I keep my focus on my determination to fight for my relationship with Carlos, and it's enough to keep the creeping panic at bay. I purse my lips and tighten my chest as I push the tears away. I am not going to cry. I am going to have faith in Carlos.

While I feel mentally resolved, my body continues to react much more tumultuously. I am feeling the adrenaline crash from discovering the investigation reports, calling my family, being startled in the car by Carlos, and my confession and my shifting hormones course through my veins as my hands begin to tremble. I break into a cold sweat, and the initial nausea that abated while I was conducting my breathing exercises returns like a tsunami. I race to the toilet as the wave rushes forward, making it just in time.

I empty the meager contents of my stomach and spit bile as I continue to heave. I lay on the ground in front of the porcelain throne and relish in the feel of the cool ceramic tiles against my clammy skin. I appreciate that Carlos didn't directly order me to the entertainment room, but I know he wants Hector babysitting me to make sure I don't run away. I push myself up onto my hands and knees and pause as I wait for equilibrium. I want to do something right tonight, and sitting with Hector is the least I can do after everything Carlos has done for me.

The distance from the toilet to the sink feels like a marathon, but I reach it and begin to feel better as I splash cold water on my face and neck before rinsing out my mouth. As the sweat dries on my body, a chill settles in, and I find one of Carlos' sweatshirts before slowly walking across the house.

I lean against the entertainment room doorway a second to steady myself, and Hector, who was perched rigidly on the couch, is immediately by my side. "Estefania! Are you okay?" he asks in English, placing an arm under my shoulders. I nod yes, but I feel no need to show unnecessary strength to one of my oldest friends, and I lean against him as we walk to the short distance to the couch together.

We sit side by side, and I let out a large sigh as I place my elbows on my knees and bend over to rest my hands on my face. "I messed up, Hector. I probably got you into trouble. I'm sorry," I say to the ground, looking up as I hear Hector snort.

I unsuccessfully attempt to raise a single eyebrow in silent retort before reaching across him for the blanket and laying down across the center and far cushions. Hector has one of the ESPN channels tuned to the highlight reels of a recent boxing match, but the sound is on mute. I stare unfocused at the screen as Hector smooths the blanket over my feet before resting a hand on my ankles. I channel the same quiet courage I found when I confessed to Carlos earlier. "When I hacked your account, I gave myself remote access into the system. I knew you'd figure it out if I changed my Rangeman network privileges to an administrator, so it was the best workaround I could think of without actually asking for help the way I should have. I wasn't ready to let anyone, even you, know how bad my life had gotten. The first clue I needed to reach out to you should have been when I was sneaking around you. I was wrong," I said remorsefully.

"That's an advanced skill, Estefania, and what you were doing is difficult to detect. I'd say I'm impressed, but you're right, I wish you would have asked me," Hector replies slowly, choosing his English words deliberately.

"We grew apart after returning from San Diego. I thought our mutual interest was in keeping Alicia safe, and I was surprised when you got the job at Rangeman. I'm glad we had a chance to reconnect and begin boxing again, but after helping to save me once, I thought you would be disappointed in and ashamed of me if you learned that I put myself in a bad marriage and then in a bad relationship with Joe. I didn't want to confess, because that would make things too real," I say with regret, and my voice cracks under the emotional strain of the words.

Hector stands, and my unshed tears prevent me from seeing any more than shifting light from the TV. Then, he is crouched before me as he sets down a box of tissues and a bottle of water. " _Mi Angelita_ ," he says, smoothing my hair away from my forehead. "I am not disappointed or ashamed of you. You are brave and full of love. What happened to you is not your fault. If anything, I let you down. I vowed to protect you, but I didn't say anything when that _pendajo_ Morelli kept yelling at you. I waited too long to step up. I'm sorry."

I reach up and wrap my arms around Hector's neck, pulling him towards me and feeling our bonds of sister and brother become stronger then they were before. "It's not your fault, either," I say with quiet fierceness. "I promise to be more open about what's going on, and I won't sneak around the network anymore."

Hector rubs a soothing hand on my back. "I will speak up more quickly. And you will show me what you can do on a computer," he replies. "I think you have more hidden talents than you have already revealed, mi Estefania." I nod my agreement into the crook of his elbow before taking a cleansing breath and releasing my grip. Hector sits on the floor in front of me. "Tell me what happened tonight," he says, looking at me steadfastly.

I bite my lip and look away in reflection before recanting the entire evening. I tell Hector about dreaming about Dickie and Carlos helping me to understand for the first time that what happened was rape. I told him about discovering the investigation file and the shock I felt seeing Joe and Terry film that horrible video, and the total betrayal at finding my father's involvement in the marriage bet. I watched Hector's face harden into a deliberately neutral expression as I relayed the conversation between my father and myself and my decision to disown my family.

"Then Carlos found me sitting in my car, and I think he panicked, believing I was going to take off. To be honest, the thought had crossed my mind for a second, but I had already decided that everyone here was my family now, and I couldn't imagine not having you guys in my life. I was sitting there trying to sort out my feelings and not panic or wake everyone up. I know I don't sleep very much, but I don't intend to take everyone down with me. He pulled me from the car, and it was kind of shocking. I told Carlos everything that had happened, and I told him about what my father said. I said I was sorry, and that I would work to do and be better," I say, pausing to collect myself at the unexpected flood of emotions. "After I explained everything and apologized, Carlos got mad. He tried to make me feel better before walking away, but I know he needed to collect himself. I hope I haven't fucked things up too badly this time. I know he is invested in me and this relationship, but I keep throwing more shit his way, and it may eventually be that he loves me, but he can't take my crazy anymore. I'm not going anywhere, but I'm terrified he will need to be done with me," I confess, my pain plain on my face.

" _Mi Angelita_ , it's obvious Ranger loves you, and I don't think he's going anywhere. It's better that he walks away and gets some perspective than say something he regrets," Hector tells me, his hand resting on my arm. "You need to learn to trust and to reach out and talk to us before jumping to conclusions, including the conclusion that it's better to hide away instead of speaking up," he counsels kindly. Hector cocks his head to one side slightly. "What did your father say again?"

I tried to shrug nonchalantly, mostly as a way to put up a shield against the raw wound caused by his words. "Mostly that I've always been a disappointment, and that he thinks that because I haven't met the expectations of my upbringing. The highlight of the conversation is when he said I'm a slut who will redeem herself by returning to the Burg and marrying Joe. Marrying Joe is the only way I can return honor to the family name and to repay my debts to the family," I say, hugging my arms more tightly around my body. "Look, I know how ridiculous it sounds when I say it out loud, but mixed into his tirade are some elements of truth. I was warned to stay out of the Morelli garage and to stay away from Joe when I was a child. My theatrics when I jumped off the roof, drove Joe over with the car, and the public debacle that was my divorce to Dickie was difficult for my parents in a community as loose-lipped as the Burg. I know the medical bills I incurred from my tomboy ways, car insurance costs, and wedding costs were difficult for my parents to absorb. I could have lived a better life and made better choices, and maybe I wouldn't be where I am now."

"Estefania, you get to be human. You get to jump off of roofs, confront people who hurt you and live your life the way you see fit. You get to make mistakes and make them again. Your ability to love people and see the good in them is what made you ignore your parent's advice to stay away from the Morelli garage, but it's also what lead us to be friends. You have the rare gift to see beyond what people want others to see and look at their true character. I'm guessing, as much as it pains me to say this, that Morelli was a good man or at least a good child, and that he had something redemptive in him. He didn't live up to your trust and made bad choices. Your father is wrong, and I'm proud of you for standing up to him and cutting out that diseased part of your life," Hector declares intently, his eyes boring into me.

I press my lips into a thin line and curl into a tighter ball as I consider his words. I made some poor decisions tonight. I've started to make things right again, but just as I already decided to fight, I need to have faith that Carlos will willingly continue to be beside me. "Carlos loves me unconditionally, just as you do. That means that even when I'm wrong, you guys might be angry, but you're still here for me," I say, my wide eyes searching Hector's while my chin quivers against my internal command for the muscles to be still.

" _Si,_ Estefania," Hector replies, kissing my forehead gently. "You'll never be rid of me."

The corners of my lips quirk in a smile, and Hector rises to sit at the opposite end of the couch. I try to stay awake and wait for Carlos to return, but the emotional roller coaster I've been on since the wee hours of the morning has drained my energy reserves, and I drift off to sleep.

Flashbacks to the Burg fill my dreams. I see the faces of my grandma, Mary Lou, and my nieces, and a sense of loss permeates my being. Then, I'm walking through the business district, and I have the confidence of familiarity as I recognize the faces of everyone passing by. I step into Pino's and slip into a corner table. Snippets of conversation float my way, and I hear those people who I thought were my friends bet on me regarding my potential marriage to Joe. I stand and look around, and the once friendly faces are now shrewdly peering at me with detachment as they make financial judgments. In the next moment, I'm standing in front of my childhood home, but my mother is standing on the stairs with her arms crossed.

"I kept telling you it was time to settle down, get married, and have kids or you'd regret it," she lectures me. "Today is that day. Your father has worked too hard to continually have his life and reputation disrupted because you won't be the woman I raised you to be," my mother states firmly before turning and locking the door behind her. I stand on the curb and look into the picture window. The people inside begin to look like the Cleavers with smiles, respect, and good order and discipline on full display.

I wake up quietly as a blanket of grief and melancholy for everything I lost last night settles onto my psyche. The TV is still on, and I stare unblinkingly at a college football game. After several minutes, I turn my head and watch Carlos' chest slowly rise and fall. I feel slightly better that he is here with me, but my depressed mood mixes with anxiety at the impending conversation. The more I wake up, the more my physical needs begin to roar for attention. I slowly roll off of the couch, and I'm a bit surprised my Batman doesn't flinch even subconsciously at the shifting weight.

I pad as stealthily as I can out of the room, and I squint my eyes at the bright light streaming into the great room as I pass through. I see Bobby perched on a barstool in the kitchen, and I redirect my path towards him. "Hey, Bomber," he says, standing as he looks me over once. "Feeling alright?"

"Yeah. I'm headed to freshen up in the bedroom. Would you please leave a note for Ranger or tell him where I am when he wakes up? I was careful not to disturb him," I ask, glad to have found a way to keep Carlos from thinking I've run away again when he wakes up.

"Will do," Bobby replies as he continues to look at me shrewdly.

"Thanks," I say while turning and beating a path towards the bedroom. After using the toilet, I find a washcloth and feel immediately refreshed as I wipe off some of the stress of the morning. I finish by brushing my teeth and my hair. A fresh pair of underpants helps build my freshly resolved attitude, and I complete the look with black leggings that have a multi-colored geometric stripe on the side and aqua quarter zip pullover.

I'm about to leave the closet when I grasp the edge of the island tightly as stars flood my vision. It reminds me how long it's been since I had anything substantial to eat or drink. Okay, next up, self-care in the kitchen, and then I'll be ready to face Carlos and whatever he needs to tell me.

I push off from the island and wipe my palms on my pants before walking more confidently than I feel back to the kitchen. Fake it 'till you make it, right? I can feel Bobby's eyes boring into me, and he joins me in front of the open refrigerator. "What do you feel like eating, Bomber?" he asks as I gaze at the many ingredients that make meals my brain doesn't fathom.

"Toast?" I reply, and before I think about what I'm saying, I continue enthusiastically, "with peanut butter!"

"You got it, Steph. Have a seat. It would be my pleasure," Bobby says, directing me to the barstool with one hand while he closes the fridge with the other.

I sit, and as the smell of warm bread begins to fill the room, try not to drool with the desperate starvation I feel. Bobby uses the toaster time to place a cup of water and a banana in front of me, and I almost hug him with gratitude. I close my eyes as I take the first couple of bites and moan while resting my head on hand. I lift my head again when Bobby sets down a plate in front of me before taking the seat beside me. "Thank you," I say, my words mushy between bites.

"You're welcome," he replies, and his eyes cut away from me as Lester enters the room. The guys do their ESP thing, and Lester turns and walks out the way he came.

"Forgive me if I'm being overbearing, but are you feeling alright Steph?"

"I'm feeling better. The food is great," I say, picking up my second piece of toast. "I threw up a few hours ago, but I'll be fine. Really."

Bobby nods his head, "You still look a little pale. Make sure you try to eat and drink a little more frequently today. Since you went into this week undernourished, your body isn't as well equipped to deal with any additional stresses placed on it. But it's going to be alright. We'll keep working to make you stronger," Bobby replies, and I don't hear any judgment. It's a relief.

I stand feeling much steadier on my feet than before to clean my plate and hands. I'm on my way to the living room when I stop and turn back towards the doorway as I feel a familiar tingle on the back of my neck.

Carlos gives me a sweeping glance as he closes the distance in a few long, rapid strides. I wrap my arms around his waist and feel instant relief against a tension I didn't know I was holding until it began to dissipate at his touch. His arms meet around my back, and my head presses against his chest. I take a deep breath and immerse my senses in everything Carlos. "Babe," he says, and the one word is everything I need to hear right now.

I take Carlos' hand and silently lead us to the master patio. He sits on the chaise lounge, and I straddle him so that we continue to face each other. I begin kissing Carlos's chest, neck, and face with fervent desperation for nearness that rises from the depths of my soul.

"I'm sorry," I plead between kisses. "I'm sorry, and I love you," I breathe against Carlos' lips before pressing a kiss against them. I place my hands on his neck with my fingers laced through the hair behind his ears. Looking unwaveringly into Carlos' brown eyes, I see the emotions he normally keeps hidden churning behind them. "I violated your trust when I opened and read the investigation report and watched the video. Please know Hector had nothing to do with my ability to access the files. You've done nothing but love and support me, and I failed to honor your wisdom and judgment when I did so. I've opened up a lot, at least for me, but I still have a bad habit of pushing people away and acting rashly. I'm glad I dared to stand up to my father, but you should have been beside me when I did. I'm sorry. I love you, and I hope you will forgive me," I say, the words pouring out of me.

Carlos' eyes widen at my apology, and when I finish, he presses his lips into mine before pushing an errant curl behind my ear. "Of course I forgive you, Babe. _Querida, te quiero_. I'm sorry I was too angry to stay. I was exhausted from the broken sleep and turbulent week. I tend to keep my feelings locked down, and this week has challenged a lot of my normal ways of dealing with things. I did think you were leaving, and everything caught up with me. I didn't want to say or do anything I'd regret, but I know my walking away must have hurt. I'm sorry I couldn't keep my emotions in check to listen more clearly to what you were telling me. In hindsight, your explanation of what happened last night showed greater understanding and maturity than what I initially gave you credit for," he says, his accent affecting the formation of his words. Before continuing, he takes my hands in his and gives them a gentle squeeze while leading towards me slightly.

"I'm proud of you for working hard to improve your technical skills and knowledge, but I was upset that you gave yourself access to the network and circumvented the procedures we put in place for your protection. However, I am most angry at your father for his words towards you. Babe, it's inexcusable that he said those things, and further, they aren't true. Listen to me; I do not feel that way about you over anything that has happened in your past or between us. You are a loving, honorable, and amazing woman who has had several traumatic things happen to her. Those events do not define who you are. I know I've given you reasons to doubt what I'm saying, but know this now. I love you, Stephanie Michelle Plum. I'll be by your side, no matter what, for the rest of my life. There is no price between us," Carlos tells me emphatically.

I'm overwhelmed by his explanation, and my power of speech fails me. I nod my head yes several times before looking down to stare at our coupled hands as take a deep breath to steady myself. He loves me, and I love him. He accepts my apology, and I understand from where he is coming. If I'm honest with myself, I don't entirely share his view of me, but I do know that he believes it, and that's enough for now. A lot of relationships in my life changed last night, but if anything, the one that matters the most is stronger because Carlos and I were able to communicate and respond with humility and empathy towards one another.

"Thank you. I love you, too," I eventually reply before shifting my body so that I am laying between Carlo's legs while resting my head on his chest.

Carlos wraps his arms over mine, and the warmth that spreads out of my heart is warmer than the Florida sun on my face. "How do you feel about everything you discovered, Babe?" he asks.

I think a moment to give his question careful self-assessment before stating, "Better than I was, but not great. You were right to be cautious in revealing the information in the investigation file to me, and I'm struggling to deal with it all. I'm sure I'm still processing stuff, and to be honest, I did throw up in the aftermath of everything. Right now I'm numb other than a general sense of loss, but I'm feeling a lot better now that things are right between us."

Carlos doesn't immediately reply. Instead, he silently holds me closer, and I become boneless against his strong yet tender embrace. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you when you weren't feeling well. I'll do a better job with taking care of myself so that I can be a better partner to you," he says quietly, kissing the top of my curls.

"S'okay," I murmur. "We love each other, and we're good now."


	54. Chapter 54

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: I'm thrilled to have this ready to kick off the weekend. I've decided I'm going to take Part 1 of this story through Monday Steph's time, possibly part of Tuesday before we take a time jump into Part 2. Our characters have a little more living to do first. I love the constructive feedback I'm being given - thanks! To start, I dedicate this chapter to VickiSnyder1. 😊

I'm always grateful to misty23y, my dedicated beta. She's been especially wonderful helping me figure out what the next few chapters need to say before we drive the DeLorean. A new chapter to Thankful was posted! Check it out while we wait (eagerly) for her to begin posting her next story.

* * *

 **Chapter 54**

Date/Time Stamp: Sunday, 23 SEP18 1030-1400

 **Stephanie POV**

Laying quietly in Carlos' arms has quickly become one of the most important things in my life. I've long known we have a connection between us, but even that has changed this past week as we've opened up and shared our emotions and vulnerabilities. The physicality between us has the power to dampen my anxiety and give my turbulent thoughts focus.

When I left Trenton nine days ago, I felt as though I could never escape the fear and pain caused by Joe, my family, and the Burg at large. I felt as though I was the errant child who deserved everything I got because I refused to conform to an expected ideal. I didn't know where I was going, and it's very likely I may have chosen to disappear. Either way, I would be in a much darker place.

Carlos has always been a bit obsessive regarding my physical safety as a bounty hunter. That said, I never expected him to follow me during my crisis. I never saw him becoming the most important person in my life overnight, but then, we've both danced around this potential eventuality for a long time. I blamed him for the words and phrases he used that were meant to keep me at arm's distance, but I did the same thing. I've used Joe as a shield against being fully available to him. Carlos isn't the type to share, ever. He's an admitted opportunist, but he would never be willing to fully commit to me if there were the potential I would reject him just to run back to Joe.

I've already admitted to Carlos that I'm afraid, but I think it runs deeper than that. I'm not only fearful of being physically hurt, but I'm scared to be loved. I've never had a problem offering my love to others. That's an expression of my deepest desire. But when it comes down to the actual practice, I've only experienced pain and rejection when I choose to receive love. I played a role in relegating and compartmentalizing Carlos to the status of a fuck buddy, and I need to take responsibility for that and not be a victim.

I think it's also the same reason I chose to give in to my mother's meddling and marry Dickie. I knew he didn't love me, but I had hoped the marriage would earn me my mother's love. I never acted with honesty toward myself. It's my subsequent depression and low self-esteem that put me in the mindset to allow Joe into my life romantically. I did know better, and I should have loved myself enough to say no. A relationship with him was never going to right the past wrongs between us.

Carlos, and now Bobby, Lester, and Hector, have all turned their lives upside down on my account. I hardly see myself as deserving, but I am incredibly grateful. Last night was a shitty way for me to show it. I have to accept that I'm not in this life alone anymore, at least right now. There's always a chance this will blow up in my face, but I'm already in a better place than I was a week ago. Even if the worst happens and I lose Carlos, I will have gained a lot from merely accepting some of their love.

So, step one in the "improve my life plan" is to practice accepting love, including loving myself. The second step is to put in place better boundaries. I cut my parents out of my life last night, but I will eventually need to reply to Grandma Mazur, reach out to my nieces, and talk to Mary Lou. I'm not convinced that cutting everyone out of my life forever except for the people here is my best option, but I need to be wise about how I approach those relationships. I hope I can keep my relationships with those people, but I need to be careful about it.

The third step is to hold myself more accountable for when I make bad choices. I shut people out far too much, and I act impulsively and independently. That behavior will not work in a long-term relationship. I want to be an asset and an equal partner to Carlos. He thinks I can add value to his company, and I intend to do everything I can to live up to that assessment. I am going to work hard to begin the repay the investment he already has in me and us.

The elephant in the room here is that while I've improved a lot with my emotional health, I still have a long way to go before I'm healed. I'm at a bit of a loss on how to go about being a great girlfriend, conquer a new work environment, and work through all the emotional turmoil in my life. Carlos deserves better than a daily basket case, however. I'm wearing him down emotionally, and I can see the exhaustion in his eyes. I can't return to denial land, but I'm not sure wearing my emotions on my sleeve is the best way to continue either.

How do I do this? How do I allow myself to accept love, work on setting up healthy relationship boundaries where I consider my wants and needs in a positive light, be a Rangewoman badass, and be my best self for Carlos? It all feels pretty daunting. I guess the only way is to eat the elephant, one bite at a time.

"Hey, Carlos," I say while picking a hangnail.

"Babe," he immediately responds.

"I don't think I've said thank you enough. You loved me enough to follow me to Florida on a hunch, and, even more, you've opened your life and home up to me completely. You and the guys have dropped everything to help me, and I can only imagine at what cost to your business. I didn't show much appreciation for that by undermining you and sneaking around the network. I'm not very good at opening up and asking for help or trusting anyone. I don't deserve you or any of this, but thank you. Thank you for believing in me, loving me, and for being willing to enter into a relationship with me," I say slowly, attempting to balance a tone of remorsefulness and love. "I'd like to do something to make it right, and I think one way might be with a demonstration about what I've learned to do with a computer. I haven't slept well in a long time, and that's given me ample opportunity to study and learn. By showing Hector and yourself what I can do, it will also allow Hector to properly resent my account so that as an employee I'm given my need to know access again."

Carlos gives me arms a slight squeeze and kisses the top of my head. "Okay. When would you like to do that? I'll admit I'm curious," he replies.

I shrug, saying, "No time like the present." I turn my upper body and close my eyes as I press my lips onto Carlos', intending on a quick kiss before standing and walking away. Instead, as our lips connect, a fluttering in my stomach rapidly spreads to my fingers and toes, and I quickly deepen the kiss as I run one arm through his hair and the other around his neck and under the collar of his shirt. I'm not even sure what I'm feeling. My mind knows that this kiss isn't a lust filled moment of desire, and yet as I further twist my body so that I'm straddling his lap as I continue to press myself fiercely against him, I know I've never wanted anyone like this before. It's almost a desperation for completeness.

I quickly pull his shirt out of his cargo pants and rub my palms up the side of his torso. My hips shift as I do so, and when I rest my bottom down again, I hear Carlos groan when my core lines up with his erection. I instinctively rock my hips in reply as I bite his lower lip, raking my teeth against the soft flesh. I'm panting with need, and I begin kissing his cheek, leaving a trail as I make my way to his ear. I lightly suck on his earlobe before blowing slightly. I feel his nipples harden under my thumbs, and his hips thrust up against me. Carlos has unsecured my bra, and his fingers are trailing under the edge of the cups.

"Yes," I whisper, and I feel a shiver of delight shoot through him as his fingers massage my breasts before lightly rolling my nipples. The sensation is a lightning bolt to my core. I groan in ecstasy as he lifts my shirt and takes my breast lightly in his mouth before slowly, agonizingly pulling away with his lips, forming a small pucker as he blows air over the sensitive flesh. Carlos begins pinching the same nipple again as he repeats the same attention on the second breast. I throw my head back and close my eyes with my hands on his thighs, bracing me from behind while wholly focused on his ministrations. He picks up the pace of his kneading as his mouth begins planting kisses at my exposed neck, slowly moving toward my lips. As he does, I wrap my fingers around his waist and slide them up his back as we move closer and closer together.

My want and need for Carlos grows exponentially with each kiss, and I'm hyper-focused only on him. He slows his pace the closer he gets to my lips until I'm nearly begging for the connection. Then, suddenly, he pinches my nipples as he fervently presses his mouth against mine and releases them when our tongues touch. I explode in an unexpected orgasm, and my back arches as my fingers dig into his shoulder blades. A high-pitched primal cry escapes from deep within as he presses his hard member against me, prolonging the orgasm with dizzying delight. As our lips part again, I groan, "Oh, Carlos, I love you," before collapsing against his chest.

"Babe," he moans huskily in reply as his arms hold me against him. I have no idea how much time passes while I slowly regain control of my breathing and heart rate. Eventually, I lift my head and smile at Carlos' contented expression.

"Wow," I breathe.

" _Querida, te quiero_ ," he replies, his eyes still dark with desire and affection, before kissing me gently. With me remaining on his lap, he twists my legs so that they are to one side before he stands and carries me into the master bathroom. He gives me another kiss before setting me down on the edge of the bath to turn on the shower.

I finish removing my shirt and bra and pick off the bandages on my arms without any sense of self-consciousness. All the while, I never take my eyes off of Carlos' perfect body as he steps out of the shower again and removes his shirt. As he loosens his belt, I notice the damp spot on the front of his cargo pants. "Looks like that was good for you, too," I say mischievously as a smile of pride quirks at the corners of my mouth.

Carlos saunters over to me and places a hand on either side of me on the ledge while leaning over so that we are nose to nose. "I haven't lost control like that since I was a teenager," he replies, making the admission sound like seduction. "Feel free to kiss me like that anytime."

Even with my new-found confidence, I can't help the blush from rising into my cheeks. "I may take you up on the offer in the future," I reply coyly before standing with my body as close to his as it can be without touching, enjoying the electricity that fills the void. I place my foot on the edge of the tub and slowly peel off my leggings before entering the shower, feeling his eyes burn into me every step of the way.

 **Ranger POV**

After Steph and I finish lunch, I sit down at my desk and wait for Steph to arrive with the guys. Sex in the Porsche may have slipped to number two in my all-time favorite intimate moments with Make-Out Session on the Veranda sliding in to first for an unexpected victory. _Dios!_ My Babe surprised me again. She opened herself up to me, beginning with her soul, and the results were spectacular. If that's what second base is like with her now, I can only imagine how mind-blowing sex will be.

I lean back in my chair and stare with a long gaze at the painting over my couch. Maybe that's what Steph meant when she said we've never made love. Our interactions in the bedroom have always been spectacular but purely physical. In that regard, today was the first time I've ever come close to making love, and it seems that by compartmentalizing my emotions so thoroughly, I've robbed myself of how good sex could be with the right partner, with my Babe. An unchecked smile plays across my lips.

I'm proud of the personal responsibility Steph has shown today. She has used this last week to begin to reconcile the worst parts of her past with her strengths and weaknesses and is setting her life on a positive path. She has matured quite a bit as a result, and it's challenging me to take a look at myself and see how I can do better. Any lingering doubts or hesitations I may have had about us surviving a long-term relationship evaporated after her apology today. Steph has never accepted responsibility for her choices and usually used the "It's not my fault" tagline to excess. Not only that, but she's about to take it a step further and put her proverbial cards on the table, and I'm aware of how difficult that is for her.

Stephanie prides herself on her independence, and this action says more to me about the trust she is placing in me and her desire to be successful in her job. It's difficult to be a boss and a lover, and this disclosure on her part will make balancing both much more manageable.

I sit straighter as everyone enters the room and claims a chair around the desk. Hector is carrying his laptop. "Ranger, would it be okay if I hook up one of your monitors to Hector's computer? It will make the demonstration easier," Stephanie asks in a professional tone, and I give a quick nod as I push away from my desk to give her room to access the cables. "Hector, log in using your account, and I'll log in on Ranger's using mine," she further directs as she stands beside me.

"Hector, when I copied your password to store the video feed on the Rangeman servers, it occurred to me that I may need to go back and view it. The basic permissions of my account wouldn't allow me to access those files, and I knew that you monitored account permissions. As a workaround, I used your account permissions to grant remote access through my log-in as a mirrored portal into your account. I didn't want to risk this becoming a security vulnerability, so it only works when I am using a computer tied into the Rangeman network. The obvious benefit to me is that it's undetectable on your side," Steph begins, clicking through icons and files on her screen. I stare incredulously as Steph's basic employee screen blinks and another window opens showing everything Hector can see.

"Last night was the first time I began looking at personnel files, and please understand my intentions were good. I wanted to begin to know who some of my future co-workers are that I might assimilate faster. I know I went too far. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I haven't read or looked at any of your private folders," Steph explains, pausing to look at everyone with a silent apology in her eyes. She takes a deep breath, sets her shoulders determinedly and continues.

"First I read nearly every manual and instruction I could find. The ones I expected to bore me to sleep were the tech department's, but instead, it aroused my curiosity. I began studying Python and using that code to create a few applications to study vulnerabilities on the network and with various accounts. I mean, if I could hack my way in, could anyone else?" she says with a shrug, and I raise an eyebrow while Hector, Bobby, and Lester look genuinely surprised.

"Hector, do you remember when the servers crashed about four months ago?" Steph asks.

" _Si,_ " he replies cautiously.

"That was my bad. I ran a test of my program, and, because I had a date time error in the search code, it overloaded the servers. In a way, it was a happy error, because I remotely watched you reset everything. Whenever I made a mistake since then, I was able to fix it myself. Sometimes, Hector, I logged-in to watch you work, and I must say, you are very good at what you do," she says with the hint of pride on her face undermining the tone of contrition. Steph quickly moves on, saying, "Anyway, Hector, go to this address and open the app."

I watch dumbfounded as Hector opens Steph's program and a database begins running. "This is still in its infancy, but once this program finishes running, it will give you a list of every unsecured or unauthorized device plugged into the network. That includes phones, personal laptops, USB drives, everything. Having non-Rangeman devices on the network introduces vulnerability and is another way sneaks like me could gain access to your information," Steph says, as she grabs the mouse to demonstrate various features.

"Estefania, the knowledge it takes to do this is not in Rangeman manual," Hector challenges.

Steph shrugs him off. "You can learn a lot on Google if you're motivated. I used my curiosity for good and chased the rabbit hole. I believe I could make it a lot better if I attended a programming and big data analytics course, but obviously, I don't make the kind of money those credentials require. That leads me to confession number two," she states. Steph then turns to look directly at me, and for the first time, seems a little nervous. What could top this?

"I couldn't always find my skips using conventional means, and if they left the Burg gossip chain, it got a lot harder for me to chase people down," she says, and I'm not sure where she is going with this. "For security reasons, I'm not going to show you this on this computer, but I've also been known to use information on the dark web when it suits my purposes. The contacts I've made helped direct me to various resources when I got stuck learning how to program or troubleshoot some of this stuff, and the way it has helped me to find out certain bits of information is invaluable. Sometimes I paid for the exchange with a portion of my finder's fee. I never did this with anyone even remotely associated with a Rangeman file or client, and I never did it on a Rangeman network or IT asset. I realize that some of that stuff is ethically grey, but I justified it by getting the bad guys off the streets. Just know I know how to do it, but I have never compromised your company's integrity." It seems my Babe's moral compass doesn't point as true north as I believe. We again have more in common than I ever knew, and she certainly doesn't have to justify her actions to me.

Before I can even formulate a reply, Hector is on his feet. "You're AngelitaMuerte!" he exclaims. "I knew there was something familiar there!" Steph smirks and nods her head, yes, but I can see the small signs of tension from the demonstration and confession on her features.

Lester jumps in next. "Why do you reference yourself as an angel of death?" he inquires.

Steph looks away pensively and crosses her arms over her torso before replying. "It's similar to a street nickname given to me in San Diego after Hector and me killed that pimp. That's a pretty shitty chapter of my life, but I figured it is badass. I'm not going to run around advertising the fact that it was me, but I thought the name could be a subtle way to establish some supremacy in a world with a loose moral code," she explains, and I'm even more astounded than I was before.

"Damn, Beautiful," Lester whistles, shaking his head.

Hector looks up from the program with genuine admiration and excitement in place of his usually stony face. "Estefania, do you know how much it would cost me to contract a third-party vendor for a program like this?" he asks. That's a good question, and one I don't know the answer to either. She shakes her head no with wide eyes.

"At least 5-10 million dollars, possibly more. This type of cybersecurity monitoring is very expensive," Hector says enthusiastically, and a happy Hector is almost more unnerving than scary Hector.

Steph is shifting her weight from foot to foot, seemingly uncomfortable with attention and praise, though I'm not entirely sure why. "Okay, that's the highlight reel. I'm not sure I have any secrets left to lay bare," she says evenly. "Hector, I'm sure you'll want to look at some other files and specific skills I've been trying to develop, but it's not important right now. Ranger, because I developed that program using Rangeman assets and data, it belongs to the company. Do with it what you will," Steph states, looking directly at me again. Then, she takes a big breath, and Stephanie transformed from shy and reserved to confident and assured as she straightens and holds her hands at her waist. It's damn sexy.

"I believe I've said this to each of you at various points this week, but I want to repeat it. Thank you. Thank you for being here, for supporting me, and for loving me. I don't take the personal and professional sacrifice for granted. I want you to know that I'm no longer going to hide who I am. I will work hard for you as a fellow employee, and I will be a better friend. I know I have a long way to go with healing myself and in redemption for my previous ineptitude, but I am committed to building my friendship with each of you and to adding value to the company you've worked so hard to build," Stephanie declares, and the room is struck silent for a moment.

Then Bobby stands, walks around the desk and pulls her into a bear hug. "This is amazing, Bomber. I'm glad to be here with you as both a brother and a colleague. Things will keep getting better. No, not every day, but it will, a little at a time. You're an amazing person," he states so quietly I almost don't hear it. As he lets her go, Lester spins her around towards him.

He picks her up in a firm embrace and swings her around. "I've long been lobbying for Ranger to hire you to assist me with Operations. I had no idea I'd be fighting Hector for your time and talents! A fully unleashed Stephanie Plum – the world won't know what hit it," Lester says, exuding enthusiasm. When he puts Steph back on her feet, she looks a little self-conscious and breathless as her gaze shifts between Hector and me.

Hector barely looks up from his laptop as he mumbles, " _Mi Angelita, esto es fantástico."_ A wisp of pride crosses Steph's face as she watches him examine her handiwork. (This is fantastic.)

I reach out my hand and pull Steph into my lap. "Thank you for showing us this, Babe. I'm sure we are only beginning to see just how much you will contribute to Rangeman. More importantly, I'm proud of you. You are working hard to change your life, and we are all better off for being a part of that change. I love you," I say, tempering my usual CEO demeanor with uncharacteristic affection. I'm making the conscious decision to show my Core Team just how important Stephanie is to me. None of this escapes Steph's attention, and when she turns her head to look at me with her eyebrows knit together as she processes everything, I kiss her lightly on the lips. Her expression immediately changes to one of contentment.

"You're welcome," she replies softly, and I feel the muscles in her back loosen. She takes a deep breath and stands. "Alright then," Steph declares, clasping her hands together before moving to my computer to log out. "It's time for a snack, and there's a hammock with my name on it."


	55. Chapter 55

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Big announcement: I have finished writing _Drive._ There will be four more chapters, including this one, before part one of this story is complete. I am revamping my outline and will post part two, entitled _Lift Off_ , once I've made solid headway on the chapters. One of my goals is to maintain a more consistent update schedule, and the other is to take some of the pressure off of my muse to deliver. Once I write a chapter, I often go back and tweak older material to fit new ideas better. It's much harder for me to feel like I'm putting a quality product together when writing at the pace I'm posting.

I love writing this story, working with misty23y (huge thanks for your counsel and turning around editing on this and the subsequent chapters so quickly!), and engaging with readers. Thank you for making this such a rewarding hobby.

* * *

 **Chapter 55**

Date/Time Stamp: Sunday, 23SEP18 1430 – Monday, 24SEP18 0330

 **Stephanie POV**

After leaving Carlos' office, I quickly found a granola bar in the cupboard, grabbed a bottle of water, and snagged my laptop before settling into the hammock. Carlos found me as I was finishing the snack and getting ready to power up the machine. "Babe," he murmurs into my hair, kissing my forehead before crouching beside me.

I lay my head back on the tight webbing and reach out my hand to rest it on his shoulder while giving a closed-lipped smile in return. I welcome his company, but after a day spent in conversation, confession, and emotional highs and lows, I'm ready for some quiet time.

"How are you?" he asks, staring compassionately at me. I didn't know how much was missing from our relationship until he stopped using the damned blank face around me. I love seeing his human side.

"I'm doing well, albeit a little tired. A lot happened today, and I'm going to work at organizing some of my thoughts and feelings. It should help me be better prepared for my meeting with Dr. Carlson tomorrow. I'm also looking forward to beginning my training with Lester. To be ready, I'm going to follow Bobby's advice to snack well, hydrate, and rest. I'm glad things are good between us, and that you aren't angry about the way I abused Rangeman resources," I say with even honesty.

"Babe, if independently making programs worth millions to the company is what you consider abusing resources, abuse away. You have a lot to be proud of there, and if it's something you want, to continue to learn, I'll sponsor further education for you to develop your skills. I hope you know I reserve no judgment against you for any ethically gray activities you've engaged in on the dark web," Carlos states before cocking his head to one side slightly. "There was one thing bothering me, however, as I watched you give your demonstration."

My eyes widen at his last statement and my stomach clenches in apprehension. I subconsciously grip his shoulder tightly. Carlos reaches over and places his hand over mine, massaging my fingers with his. "I'm not sure you've given yourself any kudos for what you managed to accomplish. There aren't many people who could use trauma as an opportunity to better themselves the way you have. I noticed you kept deflecting praise. It's okay for you to be proud of yourself, Babe," he says gently.

I slowly let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding. "I can see that, and I'll work towards it. I'll try to remember that in the future," I reply, knowing that it will be easier said than done.

Carlos gives my hand another squeeze before releasing it as he stands. "I have a meeting with Tank, and then the guys owe me some time on the mats. I'll be in my office or the gym if you need me. And Babe, please remember that you can find me for anything, no matter how seemingly big or small it is. I'm here for you," he reports, before kissing me lightly on the lips and disappearing along the side yard.

I power up the computer and open my journal. The words don't come easily, so instead, I outline everything that has happened since Friday. When I get to the part about disowning my family, I feel stuck. When I write, emotions and reflections typically pour out of me. Today the process is laborious, and I attribute it to how numb I still am to everything. I move on from the entry to reviewing a letter to my grandmother, and I additionally draft one to Mary Lou.

I glance at the clock, and I'm startled to see it's nearly five pm. I close the machine and walk around to the back and enter the house through the living room, which is empty along with the kitchen. I leave the laptop on the corner of the island and begin to poke through the fridge. I decide to attempt to put dinner together as the guys will likely be hungry and sore once Carlos finishes with them.

Nothing jumps out at me, so I take a step back and stare at the closed door while biting my lip. I've never seen anyone here go grocery shopping, so I can only assume the phantom Clara takes care of it. From there, how do the guys know what the stuff in the fridge is supposed to become? There aren't any notes left on the counter or the refrigerator as far as I can see. Then again, Carlos being Carlos, has only the best, and that includes a smart fridge.

I touch the surface, and the blank screen transforms into a list of programs including shopping lists, recipes, and whiteboard notes. Ah ha! That must be how Carlos communicates with Clara. I open the recipe app and see the menu for tonight is tacos. I'm sure the guys don't need a recipe for that, but I'm instantly relieved when one automatically appears.

I find peppers in the fridge, onions in the pantry and I set to work. I smile as I recall the feeling of Carlos' hands over mine when teaching me the best way to do this, and my confidence grows. I methodically work through those veggies, before returning to the fridge to find the lettuce and tomato. I'm on a roll!

Just as I was running out of things to chop, Lester walks in looking freshly showered but not too worse for the wear.

"Beautiful, this looks great! Thanks for starting dinner," he exclaims, pulling me into a bear hug. My automatic reaction is to tense up, but it's getting easier to let that feeling go, and I tentatively return the friendly action. Lester scoots behind me and begins taking out the remainder of the ingredients from various places around the kitchen, talking aloud as he does so. I appreciate the indirect way of instruction he gives me.

Soon, the sizzling sounds of beef browning and the smell of seasoned black beans fill the air. I'm directed to a smaller pan to warm and flip the tortillas, only slightly daunted at the sheer number those four guys will eat tonight.

"Lester, when and where should I be tomorrow morning for the evaluation?" I ask.

"My day starts at 0500, and there will be a Core Team meeting at 0730. Bobby and I will meet you in the gym at 0830," Lester states before pausing and turning away from the stirring the meat to look directly at me. "But Beautiful, it's been something of a rough day after a rough week. If you aren't up to it, that's okay. We can work on the administrative orientation and go back to the physical portion," he states with an odd combination of sincerity and warning.

"I'll be fine. I will go to bed early tonight and eat a good breakfast before we start. Honestly, I'm looking forward to it. The work will be both a good distraction but also a positive step forward with my life. I meant what I said earlier. I'm going to do better," I reply firmly.

"You got it, Beautiful. I'm also looking forward to working with you," Lester returns with a smile.

One by one, the rest of the guys appear in the kitchen with Carlos being the last to enter. I set down the plate of warmed tortillas by the toppings bar and walk directly to him. It's been nearly five hours since I last touched him, and I'm beginning to feel every minute of it. I trail my hand along his thigh as I walk by and catch the edge of his fingertips with mine. He turns to follow me, and I lead us the short distance to the master bedroom.

The moment the door is closed, I push myself against him in a firm embrace before standing on my toes to kiss him with the same energy. Our kiss isn't a kiss of passion but a need for closeness. I let the kiss end as I lower myself to stand flat-footed. With my head resting on his chest, I use the cadence of his heartbeat to calm my emotions, and I close my eyes as I take in the scent of his presence. Carlos' unwavering support and love is precisely what I needed and had been missing.

I'm mindful of the time, and my stomach is impatient for supper. The moment lasts less than a minute, but feeling emotionally fuller, we wordlessly head back into the kitchen. Bobby, Lester, and Hector have already begun assembling their portions, and my eyes widen at the pyramid of soft tacos rolled on their plates. My paltry two looks like a small snack in comparison.

"I bet I can eat more tacos in two minutes than any of you," Lester boasts.

"No contest," I immediately reply, holding my hands up in surrender. I swear I might have heard Carlos snort behind me.

"I always beat you. What you want to bet and lose this time?" Hector replies with slanted eyes.

"If I lose, I'll transfer my no dishes earnings to the victor. If I win, I get to pick what movie we watch after dinner," Lester retorts with arrogance oozing from his tongue.

All four guys shake on it, and I'm the judge. Everyone finds a spot at the table with me residing at the head. Carlos passes me his watch, and I proclaim, "On your marks, get set, taco!" as I push the start button.

My jaw drops open as I watch food seemingly disappear in a flurry of mouths and hands. "Five seconds, four, three, two, one, STOP!" I order, and all four men place the softshell remnants on their plates. I begin to walk around and tally consumed portions. In the end, a ruler appears to ensure I appropriately measure the remaining sections.

I take my seat before declaring the results. "In fourth place, Bobby, with four tacos consumed. In third place, Lester, with four and a quarter tacos. The winner, by a half an inch of the tortilla is…." I tease, looking between Hector and Carlos, "Hector!"

Bobby doesn't seem to care, Lester groans and throws his head back, Carlos glances at me with an amused expression before wordlessly continuing his meal, and Hector looks smug. "Guess you gotta treat your body a little less like a temple to win," I say to Carlos with a straight face, and Bobby chokes on his bite.

"Babe," Carlos intones, shaking his head while the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly with the smile he's suppressing.

Dinner finishes quickly after the spirited start, and I'm surprised to see it's only 6:30. I've been awake since 2 o'clock this morning, and I'm quickly feeling worn from the day. After helping to clear the table, I slip away to put some pajamas on and wash up.

I want to be fun and enjoy movie night with everyone, but even more so, I'm ready to be still in Carlos' arms. I quietly shuffle to the entertainment room where Lester and Bobby have a game of pool underway. Hector is flipping through the on-demand movie selections. As I'm about to turn to look for Carlos, I feel the familiar tingle on my neck.

Carlos wraps his arms around my waist from behind, and I sag against him. "Babe," he quietly says while kissing my hair above my ear. "Are you doing okay?"

I nod the back of my head yes against his chest. He guides me to the couch, and I happily curl up on his lap with the soft part of his shoulder becoming my pillow. I tuck the soft blanket around my legs and feel completely content.

Hector sits on the opposite end of the couch and hits play on the movie.

In the next instant, darkness is surrounding me, and I'm pushing myself into the safety of a corner while I figure out where I am and who is with me. My eyes are darting around the room, but I'm failing to make sense of my surroundings, and my panic is beginning to increase.

"Stephanie!" a voice calls to my left, and I turn my head towards the sound. "Stephanie, Babe. It's okay. You're safe," he says. I begin to feel calmer, but I remain disoriented. Then Dr. Anderson's exercise pops into my head.

Taste. What do I taste? "Toothpaste," I mumble. "I smell fabric softener and Bulgari," I continue without pause. Bulgari, Carlos. I reach my hand out, and a larger one immediately engulfs it. "I feel calloused fingers, soft sheets, and the fleece of the sweatshirt. I hear my heart beating, the air displacement of the fan, a tree branch tapping against the window, and your breathing," I say, focusing my gaze on Carlos for the first time. "I see you. I see your brown eyes, your mocha latte skin, your black hair, your broad shoulders, and your tender expression. I'm safe. I'm in the bedroom of our home, and I'm with the best person I know," I say to mostly to myself.

"Babe," Carlos replies and pulls me into him. I realize I'm trembling slightly from the adrenaline rush of the nightmare, and I welcome the steady strength of his hands. " _Querida,_ shhhh," he soothes.

I begin to feel safe again tucked against his warmth, and my body calms along with my mind. Usually, I'd be getting up to create a distraction for myself before attempting sleep again, but today I stay and deliberately use my senses to focus on the moment instead. He continues to murmur to me in Spanish, and it's a metronome of peace. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks after several minutes.

"Not really," I answer as tears spring to my eyes. I lean back to wipe them away, but Carlos beats me to it, and his thoughtfulness fills me with the security of his love. "I'm grateful that if I have to go through this, I'm going through it with you. Your love gives me hope, and even with everything, I know I'm blessed," I say, and as Carlos leans down, tears spring anew when gently kisses me. I rest my face in his neck as he kisses my curls again.

Then, with a voice so quiet I'm not even sure the words are meant for me, he says, "For everything I've done wrong in this life, I must have done something right." He kisses me again and adjusts our bodies so that I am laying tucked into his side. I'm surprised to find my eyes heavy, and as sleep overtakes me, I hear, "I love you, Babe. Sleep tight; I'm here."


	56. Chapter 56

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Hello! Today I achieved a goal that took me 25 years to achieve. I'm over the moon thrilled, and I don't mind sharing my enthusiasm with you. This really is the Best. Day. Ever!

Thank you to everyone for your interest and enthusiasm in this story. Two more chapters to go! I'm currently halfway through a short story I'm looking forward to sharing before I launch _Lift Off_. To misty23y, I'm always grateful for your tremendous work as my beta.

* * *

 **Chapter 56**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, 24SEP18 0730-1200

 **Stephanie POV**

The next time I awake, light is leaking into the room around the blinds, and I'm alone in the bed. I turn off the 7:30 alarm and blink away my remaining sleep, feeling more refreshed than I have in months. I got nearly thirteen hours of sleep with only one interruption, and even that was relatively short. It's been years since that happened.

I roll out of bed and stretch the kinks from being still for so long away as I shuffle towards the bathroom. I choose an all-black outfit of running tights and a form-fitting long-sleeved three-quarter zip pullover with my hair in a ponytail. I'm determined to throw everything I've got at the test this morning.

I find a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage links, and an oat bran muffin waiting for me in the fridge. I warm it up and quickly eat about half with a cup of coffee and a glass of water. I don't want to work out with too full of a belly.

I'm in the gym by 8 to start my warm-up. I'm not entirely sure what Lester and Bobby have in mind, but I don't want them to wait for me. I begin with a slow jog to get my heart rate up. After a mile, I move to the mats to start stretching out, beginning with legs. I'm finishing up with a shoulder stretch when Bobby and Lester stride in at 8:20.

"Beautiful, good morning! Ready to take your test?" Lester booms with more enthusiasm than I will ever have over exercise. I walk over to the water cooler and pour a cup.

"Sure, but what are we doing?" I reply between sips.

Bobby smiles. "What do you know about Rangeman physical fitness standards?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Not much. I mostly know how to avoid them," I answer, and Lester laughs.

Bobby starts the explanation, and I can tell he's shifted from friend to fellow professional seamlessly. "Contrary to popular opinion, Rangeman doesn't require everyone to meet the physical fitness standards of a US Army Ranger to qualify for employment. There's a reason that's an elite benchmark, and maintaining a too high standard for positions it isn't appropriate for would preclude the company from being able to hire otherwise stellar candidates, and we could even open ourselves up to lawsuits. So, we stagger our fitness standards based on the position. Employees who are a part of our physical protection details, forcible takedown teams, extraction teams, and other similar roles are held to the highest standards, and those mimic that of the Rangers. We hold employees who do routine fieldwork and are a part of general security monitoring and patrols to a standard that's equivalent to the US Army on the whole. Employees who do support work only in an office setting, such as lawyers and accountants, are not required to participate in the semi-annual physical evaluations, but if they choose to do so, they will earn bonuses.

"Within both the standard physical assessment and elite physical assessments, there are three tiers; Meets Expectations, Exceeds Expectations, and Outstanding. Everyone must reach Meets Expectations to pass. We give bonuses and promotional considerations to those who Exceed Expectations or are Outstanding. Anyone who wishes to test into the elite standards must first pass an Occupations Physical Assessment Test (OPHAT). That test gives us a better measure of where the employee stands from a holistic perspective. Additionally, anyone required to complete a physical fitness test must also pass also maintain a healthy body mass index.

"The elite level testing is the same for everyone regardless of gender or age. The basic physical fitness test and BMI requirements are broken out by gender and age levels. Steph, today we are going to do the basic physical fitness test, and, if you consent, the OPHAT. Any questions?" Bobby finishes.

While this is new information to me, it makes a lot of sense. "No, got it. If it's alright with you, I'd rather not know what numbers I'm supposed to meet. I'd rather approach this blind and see where I land with an all-in approach," I reply evenly.

"No problem. First, you need to sign the consent and waiver forms," Bobby says, handing me a clipboard of papers. He points line items on the various forms, and I sign and date where required.

"Alright," Lester says, rubbing his hands together. "Now let the fun begin!" I smile back at him nervously.

"Bomber, I need you to step on the scale for an official height and weight," Bobby directs, and I assume the position.

"Sixty-seven inches, one hundred and nineteen pounds," Bobby says to no one in particular as he enters the data into his laptop. "Good news, Steph. The couple pounds you've gained this week place you into the low end of the healthy weight spectrum. Keep it up."

"Over here, Steph. Next up is two-minute sit-up and push-up drills. I'll demonstrate proper form," Lester directs, laying down on the mat while Bobby secures his ankles. He shows me what counts and doesn't and then repeats the same for push-ups. "Ready?"

My mouth is dry from nerves, and I settle for nodding my head while assuming the position. Lester anchors my feet to the mats with his hands. "You've got this, Beautiful," he says quietly, and I cross my arms over my chest.

"Ready, set, go," Bobby announces, starting the timer. I give it everything I've got and push myself hard. I want desperately to prove myself worthy of their investment, and I leave nothing in my reserves. "Time!" Bobby declares, and I lay back on the mat to catch my breath.

"Good job, Steph. Two-minute break," Lester says, and I stand to grab a quick sip of water.

All too quickly, I'm back on the mat, my body tense as I wait for the final countdown to explode in energy to complete as many push-ups as possible. "Go!" Bobby says, and I attack with the same vigor. I'm mindful of my technique and attentively make sure I keep my body a stiff plank during the exercise. Bobby announces the final ten seconds, and I push out two more on shaky arms before collapsing to ground as Bobby calls time.

I roll over and pick up my water again as I wait to find out what's next for me.

"Good work so far, Bomber. The final part of the initial assessment is a two-mile run. For today, we are going to do this on the treadmill, but you will need to complete it on a track or premeasured course at a later date. However, I do have a conversion chart we borrowed from the Navy to make the calculation fairly accurate," Bobby says. "One minute, and you'll begin," he continues, checking his watch.

Internally I groan, but I try to channel my Rangeman blank face. Running will never be my favorite thing, but if two miles is what it takes to prove myself, then two miles it is.

I hop on and begin adjusting the settings as Bobby starts the timer. Again, I'm not sure what the pace should be, but based on the fitness of the men I'm living with, I assume I have to push myself to be around an 8-minute mile pace. I finish the first half mile and increase the belt speed, continuing to do so for the next mile. I realize I have a little more energy to give before the crossing the two-mile threshold, so I bump it up again over the last quarter mile, finishing at what I hope is a respectable time as I pant and slow the machine. I walk another half mile as a cool down. I might hate this deep down, and I'm sure I'll be sore tomorrow, but there's no need to make my inevitable stiffness any worse than necessary. Lester hands me a refill of my water, which I gratefully accept while sweat continues to drip down my temples, matting my hair to the side of my face.

I step off the machine and look between the two men. "What's next?" I ask.

"We have to do the next part of the test in the front yard," Bobby says. "Take a five-minute break, and we'll meet you up there."

I nod my understanding and take a quick bathroom break before joining them again, ignoring how red my face is when I pass the mirror.

Bobby and Lester are waiting with excited expressions I don't attempt to match and instead settle on neutrally interested. There are several cones laid out and a medicine ball resting on the grass. "Lucky for us, Ranger's property is longer than it is deep, and we have plenty of room to do the 20-meter interval sprint onsite," Lester says. "But first, we'll do a standing long jump and seated power throw. We'll finish up by heading inside for a strength deadlift. There isn't a minimum or maximum for these tests. The point is to find the limits of your muscular strength, muscular endurance, cardiorespiratory endurance, and explosive power and speed. I'll demonstrate," he finishes and begins showing me what I'll be doing.

All in all, the test is pretty simple, and after a practice round, I feel more comfortable with the long jump and power throw. The sprint, however, is something I'm not sure I'll ever feel like a master of because of all types of running, I hate sprinting the most. For this test, I have to run between the cones. I stop at the end, turn, and wait for Bobby to announce "Go" before running back. The time between sprints steadily decreases until I can't finish the run before the beginning of the next interval. I'm panting like an overheated dog by the end and very ready to cool down in the air conditioning. Well, sometimes the best thing about a task is the end.

We walk back into the gym together to complete the strength deadlift. Lester racks up 120 pounds on a hex bar and sets it on the ground.

"Almost done, Bomber. For this test, you have to lift the bar from the floor to a standing position, and we will add weight in increments of ten pounds until you've reached your max weight," Bobby informs me. "Lester, show her what to do."

I attentively observe Lester's demonstration, shake out my tired muscles, and find a comfortable stance. I lift the bar, paying close attention to more form to injuring my back, and continue to do so through 190 pounds. After that, exhaustion wins, but I feel that I Iifted a respectable amount of weight.

Lester returns the weights to the bench while I begin stretching out my quivering muscles. When he comes back, I reach over my head to answer the high five he's offering. "I'm going to go get Ranger, and we'll do a debrief," Bobby says, exiting the room.

I'm glad they aren't going to delay letting me know how I did, but I hope I met the minimum requirements for fieldwork. My clothes are soaked through with sweat, and I decide it's good we talk in here where I can't drip onto any of Carlos' nice office furniture.

I stand when Carlos steps into the gym a minute later with Bobby on his heel.

"This morning Bomber completed the basic fitness test and OFAT. We used the treadmill for the two-mile run, and I used our conversion calculator to assign an appropriate point value. She completed 37 push-ups for 89 points, 66 sit-ups for 88 points, and a two-mile run in an adjusted 16:30 for 98 points. Steph's total points are 275 out of a possible 300. Congrats, Steph. You earned an Outstanding," Bobby reports without fanfare, and I'm speechless. All three of them are smiling broadly at me.

"Regarding the OFAT, Steph passed the threshold to be eligible to begin elite level training. She's physically cleared for fieldwork," he finishes.

"I'm proud of you, Babe," Carlos says. I'm proud of me, too.

"Way to go, Beautiful! I had a hunch you'd surprise me when I saw you box. Clean up, and we'll regroup after lunch," Lester says with his ever-present ebullience.

"Thanks, guys. One question. Does this mean I'd qualify to be a bounty hunter with Rangeman?" I ask, surprised by the results of the fitness tests and wondering where I fit in the organization.

"No. Rangeman tends to take on high-risk FTAs, and therefore we require an elite level fitness qualification for members of those teams. You are qualified for surveillance duty, basic security details, and possibly some of the low-level skips you used to capture," Bobby answers.

"Good. I don't think I want to go back to doing that anyway," I answer, and Carlos raises an eyebrow at me. "I've given it some thought this week, and I'm excited by the opportunity to take over some of the administrative and operational responsibilities, and I might even be able to help in Hector's department. I'm assuming this means I pass the fitness standard to the point that won't be tied to a desk all of the time, but that I also won't constantly be placing myself in danger. I'm okay with that," I explain, looking between the three of them.

"That's good to hear, Babe," Carlos says with a rare CEO-smile.

I smile in reply before walking to the master bedroom with Carlos right behind me.

I'm expecting him to be turned off by my grubbiness, but if anything, it's turned him on. The moment I enter the bathroom, he spins me around and crushes his lips against mine. "Babe, well done," he says, our lips still brushing against each other.

I bite my lower lip, tasting him as I look up at his intensely adoring expression. "I wanted to show I'm worthy of your investment and faith in me. I mostly didn't want to embarrass you," I confess.

Carlos pulls me into a firm hug, kissing my hair in the now regular and comforting expression of love. I take a step back as he relaxes his grip, and Carlos reaches out a hand to smooth my damp hair from my eyes. "Babe, even if you failed the test, I would never be embarrassed. I know you, and I know you would not only give it your best effort, which is all I ask, but I also know you would work hard to achieve whatever goal we set before you. I believe in you, and I love you. You will always be my best investment. Remember, there's no price," he says with tender firmness.

"All the same, it's better I didn't fail but thank you. I love you, too," I say with a small smile. "Join me?" I query, kicking off my sneakers. Carlos responds by turning on the water before pulling his shirt off.

I'm too tired to take things further than that fantastic kiss, which is an excellent incentive to run more, but I'd have to be dead not to notice the perfect male form accompanying me, and a surge of lust flares in my belly. I am one lucky woman.

I run my fingers over the scabs on my arms as I stand in the closet with my towel wrapped around my body. Carlos steps up behind me. "That's looking much better," he says. "I'd still have Bobby dress it. Keeping the ointment on it will allow the abrasions to heal faster and minimize any potential scarring, especially with your fair skin," he advises, running his fingers along the soft flesh of my underarms, generating goosebumps in his wake. I shiver and place my hands over his before twisting my head for a quick kiss.

We dress quickly, and he promises to make sandwiches while I see Bobby. I put on my now customary athleisure leggings with matching tank top and zip up but decide to skip the shoes. I run my fingers through hair as I walk down the hall and stop to knock on his bedroom door. "It's open," Bobby calls out.

"Got a minute?" I ask, poking my head into Bobby's room.

Bobby is sitting at a small desk, and he pushes back his chair as he replies, "Absolutely. What's up, Bomber?"

"I need some band-aids for my arms. I think it's healing pretty good, but whatever is in your magic ointment is working, so who am I to argue with results," I say, removing my zip up.

"No problem, have a seat," he says, pointing to his vacated chair as he stands and retrieves his medical bag from a corner. "You did well on your test, Steph, and I'm glad you've gained a couple of pounds back this week. I'm guessing you'll be a little sore, but extra stretching, a walk, or one of Lester's yoga sessions will all help," he says, keeping his eyes on his work. "Oh, and since I'll be going over to the office this afternoon, I'll pick up your packages this afternoon."

"That was fast. It'll be fun to have a few more clothes to choose from," I reply. "Thanks!"

With that comment, Bobby finishes, and as I begin to pull my zip up on, he slaps his palm on his forehead and groans. "Aren't I a dumbass sometimes! With everything going on, I completely forgot I brought the few salvageable things from your apartment with me. Ella cleaned and packed them, so it should good to go. I'm sorry, Steph. Let me get the bag out of my closet now," he apologizes.

"That's okay, Bobby. I thought I'd lost everything. Getting my stuff back is great! It feels a bit like Christmas!" I say excitedly, wondering what is in the small roller bag he sets at my feet. "Thank you!" I exclaim, before quickly wheeling it to the master. I set the bag on the island in the middle of the closet before opening it with impatient anticipation.

It's an odd collection of items. On top is a little black dress, and setting it aside, I see a couple of navy blue and gray t-shirts. Underneath is a pair of 5-inch cheetah print heels. Besides that, I discover a garter belt and a stuffed unicorn. Lastly, I spy a jewelry box tucked into the corner. Frowning, I reach for it and turn the small box over in my hands while staring at the eclectic array of things before me. Something doesn't feel right. I lift the lid, and the ring inside slides between my fingers as my world crashes down around me.


	57. Chapter 57

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: Only one more chapter to go! I will post the final chapter to _Drive_ on Friday. I'm currently wrapping up a short story (title to be announced Friday) that I will post weekly while I work on _Lift Off_.

The reader/writer community in the JE fandom is extraordinary. I never imagined enjoying writing as much as I do, and you guys are part of that. Thank you! Misty23y, thank you, Babe.

* * *

 **Chapter 56**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, 24SEP18 1200-1500

 **Stephanie POV**

I take a step backward in horror as my home melts away and an onslaught of living history overtakes me.

I open the door to my apartment, wearing the almost slutty but somehow borderline classy LBD. I had debated who to call when I put it on, knowing deep down I wanted Ranger but chickened out and invited Joe over instead. "Hey, Cupcake," he said, looking me up and down lustfully before pushing a finger down my cleavage.

I'm at Joe's brother Anthony's third wedding to the same woman, and they are acting like this wedding is the first wedding. Anthony pulls the garter off his new-old wife's leg and turns to slingshot it to the waiting crowd of bachelors. Joe is standing in the corner with me beside him. The garter went wide due to Anthony's drunken state and overenthusiasm, and it landed perfectly on the neck of Joe's beer bottle. "Guess we're next, Cupcake," he said before giving me a sloppy kiss to the wild cheers of his family.

The unicorn is a prize Joe won me at the fair. We went there together undercover while he was doing surveillance. It's about the closest we ever got to having a date. The t-shirts are his. I borrowed them as nightshirts when I slept at his house, and I kept them in my drawer for when he came over. The heels are Joe's favorite fuck me pumps.

Morelli deliberately spared these things from his warpath of destruction. He then used Rangeman to send me a message. In a flash of absolute clarity, cold terror courses through my veins.

The ring. The ring is the promise ring he gave me when we agreed to be engaged to be engaged. I tucked into the medicine cabinet after I fled his house a week and a half ago.

Morelli is communicating that he still thinks we're together and that I'm his. He wants me to know I can't escape him.

"No!" I scream, sinking to the floor, tucking my face between my stomach and my knees and wrapping my arms over my head. "No! No! No!" I repeat, crying violently.

I want out of this nightmare, but I'm stuck in the mental assault of the flashbacks. I'm fighting the memories of Joe's hands on my body, of his breath against my skin, and of his manipulative words whispered into my ears.

I'm at family dinner; Joe sits beside me while my family stares at me with abject disappointment while crooning over Joe. "Stephanie, when are you finally going to set a date and marry this fine man?" my mother simpers.

I look over at my father, and he stops eating long enough to shoot me silent look of apparent agreement. At the time I took it to mean he wanted me to marry Morelli to stop my mother's complaining, but now I understand it for what it was. He was looking at his payday.

My heart shatters for the loss of my family as my childhood replays in rapid rewind. In the background of every memory is someone looking at me like they wish they could trade me in for a better model of a child. I'm in my white confirmation dress, proud to be receiving the sacrament today. It's the closest to being a proper Burg child I ever was, and it's the only time I remember my father looking at with approval.

I feel hands on me, and I automatically scream, too scared and lost in the flashbacks to fight. "Stephanie!" The voice sounds distant, but something about it shines like a light in the darkness of my mental battlefield. "Stephanie! Steph!" the voice calls again, and I follow the light.

"No, no," I continue to chant, using the word as a way to cut off the negative memories from getting closer.

"You're safe. You're okay. Stephanie, look at me. It's me, Carlos. Look at me, Babe," I hear, and the light gets brighter as I focus on the voice. I muster every ounce of determination I possess, and I raise my head the minimal amount required to see over my knees. I open my eyes, knowing I found the source of my light before I lift the lids. Dark eyes filled with concern look back at me, and I freeze as I search them with a pounding heart. "That's good, Babe," he says, gently placing a hand on either side of my face. "You're okay, Steph. You're safe. There's nothing to fear here," Carlos says.

"You're wrong," I whisper, my voice shaking.

Carlos studies me a second. "Tell me why I'm wrong, Babe," he presses.

"It's Joe. He sent me a message," I reply, beginning to tremble as my stomach clenches in anxiety. I hide my face again when I see the quick flash of anger in Carlos' eyes and hear a muted, "Fuck!" from behind him.

"Steph, Babe, how can I help?" Carlos asks, one hand resting on my knees while the other rubs my back.

I take several deep breaths and use all of my mental energy to focus on Carlos. I channel my senses on his presence, and I use that to separate my feelings in reaction to the flashbacks to my physical security in the here and now. Morelli isn't here. I am safe.

"Please help me get out of this room. I need to get out of this room," I say, lifting my eyes a little higher this time.

Carlos nods, "Do you want to walk, or should I pick you up?" he questions in the same calm voice that's a balm to my frayed nerves.

"Walk," I say quietly. "But I want to only look at you. Stay between me and the island."

"Okay, Babe. Whenever you're ready," he says, never breaking eye contact.

I decide it's now or never as I feel my heart rate pick up and breathing becoming shallower as my anxiousness grows. I don't want Joe or my family to have this power over me. I want to show myself how much I've learned and healed this week by finding my courage and trusting Carlos. I slowly unwrap my shaking hands from behind my head and wrap my white-knuckled fingers around Carlos' forearms. I clench my teeth together and breathing through my nose, fix my gaze on Carlos as I pull myself to a standing position. I can do this. I won't let the past hold me hostage. Without pause, I focus on a spot on the floor on the other side of the door and half walk, half stumble out of the closet, continuing into the bedroom.

I pause, but I'm aware that if I turned, I would still be able to see the suitcase that triggered this episode behind me. Carlos places the hand closest to my side on my back, but he doesn't pressure me. When I continue to walk out of the room, he's beside me every step of the way.

I stop in a beam of sunlight that is streaming through the windows in the great room, turn, and wrap my still shaking arms around Carlos. "Thank you," I whisper, and he kisses the top of my head. While my mind is becoming sharper, my body is rapidly feeling the effects of the adrenaline crash. Carlos notices when I sag against him and pulls me into his lap on the couch.

"Breathe, Babe. With me. Nice and slow," he quietly directs me. "Focus on filling your belly with air, good. Now let it out slowly through your nose. Let's do it again."

I tilt my head back and look at him, continuing to use all my senses to continue to ground me in his presence. Bobby enters my line of sight carrying a blanket, and I follow him with my eyes as he sits on the coffee table to place it around my shoulders. "You're doing a great job of calming down, Steph. With PTSD, your body is primed to flood with adrenaline. Keep breathing through it, and your heart rate will slow, and your body will move away from a survival posture. You're doing a good job working through your body's reaction," Bobby says, and it helps to hold off some of the creeping guilt and shame I'm beginning to feel at falling apart again.

I close my eyes and rest my head against Carlos' chest as I feel myself becoming still again. After another minute, I sit up straighter and scoot off of Carlos' lap so that I'm in the corner seat of the couch with my knees pulled to my chest, the blanket still wrapped around me. Carlos keeps an arm draped around my shoulders with his body turned towards me. By changing my position, I feel independently stronger, but I still have his support. I'm ready to talk.

"Where's Hector and Lester? I'm sure they are nearby," I say, looking between Carlos and Bobby.

"Do you want me to get them?" Bobby asks, standing when I nod yes.

I close my eyes and rest my head on Carlos' shoulder. "I love you, Babe. I'm here for you," he says, and my spark of courage grows. I hear quiet footfalls behind me, and set my shoulders and lift my chin. Once the guys have found seats throughout the room, I begin with a tone to match my inner resolve.

"Bobby gave me a suitcase of the few things he and Tank were able to salvage from my apartment. When I opened the bag, I realized that each of the things was related to a specific event between Morelli and myself. It triggered a series of flashbacks, and I'm very sorry if my reaction upset any of you. I'm fine. I understand Morelli intended to use fear to drive me back to him. That's not going to work. Neither he, my family, or the Burg at large has control over me or my life anymore. More significantly, his tactics reinforce what I already know. You guys are professional and thorough, but far from the gossip of being thugs, you're compassionate and empathetic. Bobby, you braved the wreckage of my apartment and sought to bring me a bit of comfort. Thank you," I say sincerely, finishing by looking directly at Bobby with a small smile.

"So, now, that's that. I can't control when a flashback happens so I would be grateful if someone would pack up the suitcase and remove it from the closet before I go back into the room. I dropped a ring somewhere. Lester, I'd prefer to continue my training after my appointment with Dr. Anderson rather than before," I continue, taking charge of my situation.

"No problem, Beautiful," Lester says. I shift my eyes between the three men, and they all appear to be trying to maintain neutral expressions, but I can see the anger simmering behind the façade. Hector is the least successful at hiding the murderous rage lurking beneath the surface.

I stand and walk over to Bobby. He rises from his chair as I approach, and I give him a quick hug. "It's okay. What happened isn't your fault. Thank you for caring so much about me," I say quietly before continuing forward and stepping outside into the warm Florida sun. I still have the blanket around me, and the swinging of my hormones has left me feeling chilled.

Carlos joins me the next second, and I lead us to the couch near the firepit. "How do you turn this on?" I ask, and he ignites the gas flames from a panel on the side before sitting down beside me. I lay down using his thigh as a pillow and stare at the flickers of red, yellow, and blue.

"Thanks. I understand if you need to get back to work. I'm doing a lot better, and you don't have to babysit me," I say, not wanting him to leave so much as not wanting him to be in a position where he is sacrificing his job any more than he already has for me.

"Babe," Carlos says, giving my shoulder a slight squeeze. I understand from the tone of the one word that he isn't going anywhere and that he wouldn't go even if I tried to convince him otherwise. His fingers begin to play with a lock of my hair. "Are you up to eating anything?" I nod yes, and close my eyes for a quick cat nap while he pulls out his phone to text one of the guys.

I'm gently pulled to alertness again as Carlos leaves a series of kisses from my temple across my cheekbone. My eyes flutter open, and I stretch my legs before sitting up. A sandwich and a glass of iced tea are on the edge of the firepit in front of me. I lean forward to grab the meal, set the plate on my lap, and begin to nibble as I watch various waterborne vessels weave paths on the water before me. When I finish, I set the plate beside me and brush off the crumbs before turning to look at Carlos.

"I'm not sure what time it is. When do we need to leave to go see Dr. Anderson?" I ask.

Carlos glances at this watch and kisses my forehead before replying, "We need to go in fifteen minutes."

I sigh and look down at my hands. "Please don't think I'm weak, but would you mind walking with me to the bedroom? I'm sure you guys already removed everything Morelli saved for me, but I'd feel better if you were with me," I say.

Carlos takes a finger and lifts my chin. "Of course, Babe. I don't think you're weak. I saw how scared you were, and you did a tremendous job finding your courage. Every day I see you healing and getting stronger. I'm proud of you, and I love you," he says, and I wrap my arms around him in a quick hug before standing.

We put our plates in the dishwasher and enter the bathroom to freshen up together. Carlos doesn't give it a second thought when I ask him to grab my socks and tennis shoes from the closet. We take the 911 to Dr. Anderson's office, and I rest my hand in the bent crook where his abs end and lap begins. Classical music plays through the sound system, and I close my eyes to organize my thoughts for the appointment.

In the waiting room, Dr. Anderson invites me back. "Join me?" I ask Carlos, and he follows my path to the couch.

"Good afternoon, Stephanie. Let's start by checking in. How was your weekend?" she asks pleasantly.

"Hard. I'll begin with Saturday night," I say, and I proceed to layout the highs and lows from discovering the investigation files through my flashbacks today.

"The events of this weekend revealed several things to me. The first is that I have a harder time trusting people, including my internal voice than I thought I did. I understand that several of my patterns of behavior were unconscious decisions to create barriers between myself and others. Examples that come to mind immediately are excessively clinging to my independence and keeping some toxic people in my life. I'm deliberately trying to dismantle some of those walls and demonstrate trust towards Carlos and the guys, and it's scary for me," I confess, hugging a pillow over my lap.

"The second thing is that I realize how much control I've allowed others to have over my life, especially Morelli, my family, and the Burg at large. For most of my life, I've let how others perceive me determine my self-esteem and even if I see myself as being worthy of love. From that vantage, it makes sense why I believed my mother when she blamed me for being molested and then again when Morelli raped me. It makes sense why I let myself be talked into the marriage with Dickie when deep down I knew we weren't good together, and it's why I never understood that rape could also occur within a marriage. I've believed for a long time that there is something inherently wrong with me. I've worked very hard to hide my true self and abilities, to the point of allowing, even if I didn't mean for it to happen, physical harm to come to me and others," I continue, pausing to push down the shame that comes hand in hand with these memories. I take a deep breath and press on.

"When I read the marriage bet investigation report, I think the best analogy is that the ledge I was standing on crumbled, and now I see things from a new point of view. I no longer believe that my parents love me or have my best interest at heart. I excused a lot of their behavior by telling myself that they meant well. I'm glad I cut them out of my life, but I mostly feel a sense of loss. I think I'm grieving a relationship I've accepted I'll never have. I'm placing communication with everyone in the Burg on hold until I work through this grief. That might be a week, or it might be forever. I don't think it will be the latter, because I do care about my Grandmother, nieces, and my friend Mary Lou, but when I tried to write the letters to them, I got stuck. I think with time, I'll be able to try again with more clarity," I declare, still feeling somewhat detached from it all.

"The flashbacks that I had when I went through the suitcase of things from my apartment today were terrifying," I say, my voice cracking, and I have to swallow back the fear that suddenly swells in my chest. Carlos, who has remained nearby but passive, slides closer and takes my hand. I grip it firmly as I restart the explanation. "I've been through a lot of crap, but that is the most scared I've ever been. The thing is, they weren't terrifying because I relived the negative events that often plague my nightmares. Today's event was different. I was horrified because I remembered all the times I tried to say no, where I tried to ask for better, or where I knew I needed to make a different choice but wouldn't find the courage to do so. I relived the control Morelli, my parents, and the Burg had over me, and I felt it destroying me. I felt, for a moment, what I used to feel; hopeless, worthless, and defective." Tears stream down my cheeks, but I don't let them stop me.

With a furrowed brow and the hand not held by Carlos' clenched into a fist, I pound it into the pillow as I emphatically state, "I _never_ want to feel that way again. I got out of the flashback by telling all those memories, 'No!' and by making the conscious decision to be stronger than the fear. I'm certain I wouldn't have been able to do that without the relationships forged and revelations gained over the past week. I know now that a bet doesn't determine my value, and neither does whether or not I get married, how sexually pure I am, how feminine my dress and behavior is, my employment, my hobbies, or how well I can make lasagna. I'm a good person. I have more strength than I know. I deserve a better life than the one I've lived so far, but the only way that's going to happen is if I fight for it." I purse my lips and use a tissue offered by Dr. Anderson. For the first time in the session, I look directly at Carlos. When I see the tenderness and pride on his face, my heart swells.

"Carlos, thank you. I know I don't see myself the way you do, but I am working towards gaining that perspective. I'm stronger and better with you. Thank you for loving me unconditionally, for respecting me, and for cherishing me. I love you, too," I say before the tears of gratitude prevent me from saying any more.

" _Querida, te quiero más que a nada_ ," he says softly, wiping the tears away with a fingertip.

I turn back towards Dr. Anderson and take a deep breath before shrugging and saying, "So, yeah, that's how my weekend went."

"Stephanie, wow. Have you taken any time to pat yourself on the back?" Dr. Anderson says, and I look back at her blankly. "Take a second to think about your first visit to this office one week ago. In six sessions you've managed to do what can sometimes take years of work. Every person is different, and I don't mean to make any comparisons, but you have a lot to be proud of today. You're actively reflecting on each experience and pulling the lessons learned forward as you define a new life. Change can be hard. It's okay to feel good about all the positive choices you are making, even as you mourn the loss of parts of your old life.

"Don't worry about writing anyone now. If those relationships are as good as you think, it can wait. You'll likely continue to experience flashbacks, nightmares, and periods of hypervigilance, and I would ask that you don't be hard on yourself if it does happen. As you work through the therapy process, those events will decrease as your body and mind become adjusted to a new normal," Dr. Anderson says, and I give her a tight-lipped smile in reply.

"Before we end our session today, let's go over a new tool for your mental health toolbox. I would like you to find something each day to be grateful for, even if it's a small as enjoying the sunshine, and I would like you to find something you are proud of yourself for. Add that to your journal during your daily reflections," she says before shifting her gaze to Carlos. "You, too. Remember your self-care as well," Dr. Anderson finishes with an encouraging smile before closing her folder and standing.


	58. Chapter 58

Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: We did it. _Drive_ is complete, but our journey with Steph isn't. When I began writing this story, I set out wanting to challenge and improve my writing skills. I had an idea for a story where Stephanie faced her demons head-on, called them out by name, and began to do the difficult work of healing and change. Along the way, she would find love, strength, hidden abilities, courage, and the real meaning of family. I wanted to honor the journeys of those who have experienced similar trauma, and I strived to avoid using sexual and physical assault as romantic plot devices. We've traveled a week and a half of Steph's recovery. I feel I've reached my original goals for this story, but that doesn't mean the story is over. No one heals from anything big in a week and a half. The conclusion of _Drive_ means she's now moving forward in a new direction. When we see Steph again in _Lift Off_ , we will continue experiencing her ups and downs in recovery, deepening her relationship with Ranger, becoming a full-time employee at Rangeman, and we will see the impact a changed Steph has on the Burg. I believe I've left you with more questions than answers for the story at large, and I hope you continue to travel with me when I launch _Lift Off_ in approximately six weeks.

Between now and then, I'm excited to announce chapter one of my short story, _To be Proud_ , will be posted next Friday. This is a drama/romance spin-off from _Look Alive Twenty-Five_ , and I'm thrilled with the way turned out.

I have enjoyed writing this story more than I could have ever imagined. The readers of this fandom are incredible. You've encouraged me, supported me, brainstormed with me, and stuck with me. _Thank you._ My confidence and courage to write and share my ideas has blossomed, and this hobby has become a positive and wonderful aspect of my life. I am incredibly grateful to have this opportunity to share my words with you.

Lastly, I owe tremendous thanks to misty23y. She volunteered to be my beta before I even knew what a beta was, and I promise you this story wouldn't be what it is without her. She challenged me to flesh out characters, add points of views, pay more attention to certain storylines and details, and helped me re-learn forgotten aspects of grammar. _Thank you, Babe._

* * *

 **Chapter 58**

Date/Time Stamp: Monday, 24SEP18 1500-2100

 **Stephanie POV**

At the car, Carlos holds the door for me, and I appreciate the small act of kindness. As he enters traffic, I ask, "Could we drive a route home where we park for a minute at a good vista of the ocean? Since being here, I've seen the westward view from home, but I haven't seen the Atlantic at large."

Carlos takes my hand and kisses the back before resting it in his lap. "Of course, Babe," he says, and I enjoy miles of sand, ocean, and palm trees in this urban paradise. Carlos parks, walks around the Porsche, and opens the door before I manage to finish unbuckling myself. "This is Haulover Beach Park. It's still popular with tourists, but we're far enough north from South Beach that the crowds aren't as bad," he says, anticipating my questions. I take his hand, and a smile grows as the sounds of waves crashing ashore and receding again become louder with each step. Carlos leads me to a wooden slatted bench perfectly shaded by two curling palm trees, and I sit with a contented sigh.

"What did you say at Dr. Anderson's office?" I ask. Carlos wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer.

" _Querida, te quiero más que a nada_ ," he says, kissing my head. "I love you more than anything. Thank you for inviting me to sit with you during your session today. Your explanations helped me understand you better, and it helped me take a step back and see this week and even the entire time I've known you from a clearer point of view as well. Babe, you've impressed me in every way today. The professionalism and strength you showed during your physical fitness test this morning blew all of us away. I never doubted you'd pass the test, and I thought you were capable of an Outstanding, especially after a little training with Lester, but I didn't think that was the score you'd earn today. I underestimated you and the work you've already put in with Hector. Well done," Carlos praises, and I smile with pride.

"After I finished making lunch, I went to find you. When I saw you curled up in terror, I was very concerned things were escalating to the point that you'd pass out again from a panic attack. That worry was amplified when you screamed and recoiled when I touched you, and Bobby was behind me with a sedative in case you became physical. Your fear was palpable, and in my experience, people who are that scared tend to become a danger to themselves and others. I've never seen anyone talk themselves so effectively out of fear and communicate what they need in the midst of that fear.

"I didn't understand what you were going through in the closet until your appointment with Dr. Anderson, and I'm even more in awe of the mental strength you demonstrated. I think someday you are going to look back and see today as a pivotal movement in your life," Carlos states assuredly. I twist my body towards him, and he takes my hands, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Babe, I have zero doubts that you are going to conquer your demons and give yourself a life unleashed. I'm glad I get to be a part of that journey. There are moments of bad now, but there is a lot of good. You are an amazing woman, and it is my privilege to have the opportunity to love, honor, and cherish you," Carlos concludes, his voice rich with emotion.

When the last word leaves his mouth, I press my open lips onto his as I crawl onto his lap. I kiss him with every ounce of desire and adoration I possess, and he returns it equally. It's the most honest, loving, and romantic moment of my life. When our lips inevitably break their contact, he tenderly rubs my back as I rest my head on his shoulder to calm my heaving chest. " _Te quiero, Querida. Te quiero_ ," he says in quiet passion.

When we stand hand in hand, I pause and wait for him to match my gaze. "I love you, too. More than anything. You are an amazing man," I say softly, emotions rippling through my voice. He kisses me again before we wordlessly return to the car.

On the drive back, I feel my confidence and security blossom. I reflect on times I was proud of myself, and an idea takes hold. "Ohh," I say excitedly, clapping my hands together. "I know what we should do tonight!"

I quickly fill Carlos in on my fabulous plan, and he glances over with a thousand-watt smile. "Babe."

I step out of the car and into my home with a spring in my step and bump into Lester in the kitchen. "Hey, Lester. I'm ready whenever you are," I say enthusiastically. He looks me over in surprise before returning my smile and slinging an arm over my shoulder.

"Well then, let's get this party started," he answers.

Lester and I spend the next few hours beginning to orient me on Rangeman administrative programs, policies, and procedures. I can see why he's frustrated with the laborious processes they currently use, and my mind is already churning with ways to streamline large chunks. I'm so engrossed in conversation with Lester that I'm surprised when Bobby walks to the poker table we've converted into a computer desk and announces dinner.

"Are we still on for yoga after we eat?" I ask Lester, knowing the stretching will help keep me from being too stiff in the morning.

"Absolutely," he replies.

"Would it be alright if I joined you?" Bobby asks, looking between us.

"Always," I say, smiling as I walk towards the kitchen.

I enthusiastically chow down on a meal of samosas, curry, and rice, savoring the rich and varied flavors. I can't remember if I tried Indian food before, but this is going down as a top ten favorite meal.

I wander outside after clean-up to see if Lester needs any help with setting up the mats when I find five already rolled out. It would seem that as a family, we are well on our way to forming new traditions and routines. First, Poker Fridays, then, Movie Night Sundays, and now, Sunset Yoga. Carlos is right. Today is the day my ship heaves around, full rudder, all steam ahead, and charts a new course.

I take the mat second to the end, and with Hector on my left and Carlos on my right, find myself loving exercise. When I lay down at the end for savasana, I feel Carlos' fingertips brush mine and rest, barely touching, and I feel true peace. I slowly bring myself back to the present and give Carlos' hand a quick squeeze before standing to roll up my mat.

"Hey guys, if you don't have something else, would you mind spending a little more time out here with me? I want your help lighting up the night," I announce, tucking my mat under my arm. Carlos has a hint of a smile on his face, and the others look curious while nodding their assent. "Great!" I beam.

"I'll get the stuff, Babe," Carlos replies, communicating silently with Bobby and Hector to join him.

Before they walk away, I ask, "Would anyone care for a drink?" I take mental note of the requests and stride over to the bar feeling nervous and excited. Lester joins me after returning the yoga gear to the gym and helps me carry the various glasses and bottles outside.

"What do you have planned, Beautiful?" he asks.

"You'll just have to wait and see!" I tease back, and he groans in mock agony.

They placed a large, metal firepit near the water's edge, and I watch in appreciation of the guys' pyrotechnic skills as they stack various pieces of wood and kindling with exactitude before setting the whole thing ablaze with a crackle and a whoosh.

"Morelli may have taken me by surprise this morning, but in true Stephanie Plum fashion, I never stay down. The last time a man fucked me over, I set everything he owned on fire. Bobby, thank you again for returning those items to me. Now, we burn them," I declare, picking up the black dress and chucking it into the fire.

"Here! Here!" the guys cheer. One by one, they each throw an item into the fire, and as the smoke trails upward to the sky, our bond as a chosen family becomes closer.

The last item in the suitcase is the ring box. I pick it up and turn it over in my hands again, never opening the lid while staring at the flames in contemplation.

"Babe?" Carlos says from his spot at my side, where he's been all along.

"Morelli used this ring, which was supposed to symbolize love and commitment, to send me a message of fear and control. Maybe not, but there may come a day when I need to return that message," I muse out loud. "Would you mind securing this someplace where I won't accidentally find it, and nowhere near our bedroom? I hope never to see it again, but my gut says it isn't time to throw this into the fire yet."

Carlos wordlessly takes the small box out of my fidgeting hands and places it in his pocket. I exhale the anxiousness I hadn't realized was building while holding the ring and lean against him.

"This was a good idea. I'm proud of you, Babe. I love you," Carlos says, tucking me into his shoulder and kissing my head.

"Thank you for helping me, and not just with this. I love you, too" I reply.

We all remain on the patio until the fire is nothing but embers, and I feel myself being strengthened, uplifted, and refined. I have said no, and I will be the one in control of my life. Surrounded by the best possible family, I am filled with quiet hope and confidence for tomorrow and each day after.


End file.
